A bit of clarification. Due to WiFi challenges the last week, the blog is lagging about five days behind real time, (Dear lord I didn’t realize it was THAT bad!) This blog post will deal with the events of Wednesday April 8th, but is being written on the evening of Monday April 13th. If you follow me on FaceBook-that will contain more up to date information. I apologize for the confusion and do hope to eventually be caught up. Just typing that has left me totally discouraged.

*takes deep breath* OK-shake it off. I can do this…

To answer a few other questions regarding the 57 Chevy school bus:yes, I made the decidedly odd move of swapping a van for a bus. Primarily because I learned the campground at Mesa Verde wasn’t open yet for the season, partially because it seemed random and cool, and partially because it had a shower.

Yes,  it had/has electricity and a solidly functioning space heater. There was a sink… but no tap… but I could use water from the water cooler (like an office style one) in the opposite corner? I don’t know, I didn’t try. There was a fridge. Down the “road” a bit there was a workshop that had a bathroom with shower and composting toilet. This one had cedar shavings that you scooped over your leavings-it wasn’t all space age like the one in the Nashville Tiny House.

It also allegedly had “lovely hiking trails” steps from the front door, and they were scenic, but also weird, and rocky and full of random computer graveyards and…. art??

But we did sleep quite soundly, and managed to find some nice spots to walk amongst the crap.

Oh, and about that “road”. Sooo-unbeknownst to me, to access this hidden gem, one had to go uphill along a rickety, stone bedecked dirt road. And then there wasn’t a driveway or parking space per se, one just… stopped. In the middle of the “road”. Which I didn’t really think about until an hour later when I decided to go into town for pizza. And realized there was no real easy way to turn Marigold around. There were a lot of fits and starts, and I MAY have cracked a paving stone leading up to the bus, (because what that whole area needed was more random rocks strewn about), and I MAY have knocked over a few of those little solar powered garden lights you stick in the ground.

Returning that evening, I thought I had found a better spot to park, but upon leaving that morning, it was a total nightmare! I had parked by some trees and the branches were scratching all over the top, and every time I tried to make a turn I ran up on a rock, or got stuck in a rut, and it was going from bad to worse and I was freaking out because technically I’m not supposed to be driving the van on dirt roads, and ohmigod I didn’t want to be stuck or have to call the bus lady for help. So I got out to assess the situation, and there was this, well, car part looking thing on the ground? Like a roughly 3.5 foot twisted metal pipe type thing? And I didn’t know if it had come off Marigold or was just lying there anyway, either of which possibility seemed equally likely. But it was a bit to the side, not right under the van, and it wasn’t hot to the touch which it seemed like it should have been, and I thought about bringing it along with me in case I needed it, but it was big and awkward, and I wasn’t going to sleep with a mammoth metal pipe. So I got back in the van, said a little prayer, gunned it, and got the hell out of there.

And immediately stopped for breakfast (all that stress works up an appetite!) I went to the Absolute Bakery, which had been HIGHLY recommended by both Yelp and my hostess for the previous night. It was a super cute place full of charm, not to mention a totem pole of Post-It comments, and a miniature replica of itself on the counter…

And yet… the breakfast burrito was kind of crap, and doesn’t have a PATCH on Anita’s.

The cookies were decent enough though, so I grabbed a to go bag and we were off again! And this time I decided to take a little detour, based entirely on a postcard I ad seen for a place with a cool sounding name… Hovenweep. Tell me that name doesn’t rock! I had first stumbled across reference to it in the gift shop at Dead Horse Point State Park. When I asked the ranger lady about it, she kind of waved it off as a poor man’s Mesa Verde. But I was not going to let that deter me from heading 45 miles out of my way!

So this place was basically more ancient cliff dweller stuff, except this time they built TOWERS! It was all very Game of Thrones.

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And there was a MUCH easier and more scenic hike to tour the dwellings, AND Annie was allowed to go on it with me!

All in all it was a far superior experience to Mesa Verde in my book. But time was ticking and we had miles to go before we slept.

Miles like this…

Annie was less than impressed…

But that feeling was not to last for long, because soon, very soon, we’d be at Four Corners National Monument where she would set a personal best of barking in FOUR states at once!

That’s Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona for those keeping score at home. I will say, the visit got off to an inauspicious start when we were greeted with this…

But, I mean, that just applies to REGULAR dogs right? Well I for one had not driven an hour out of my way to be deterred by that nonsense! Now I can understand and respect (for the most part) many of the restrictions the bigger parks have placed on dogs. But this was a concrete plaza. No different than walking down the street. Nothing for her to harm or upset. And we certainly weren’t any more of a nuisance that the brats who had to take multiple spread eagle shots while a kid in a wheelchair sat waiting. As I was approaching the plaza, I saw another couple with a dog, who were reading the sign. I said: “I’m willing to ignore that sign if you will. What’s the worst that can happen? They ask us to remove the dogs?” But, alas, this was no BAWOTD, and she tied her dog up to a post, while Annie and I forged confidently ahead.

First attempts at record setting were half hearted, but she soon found her stride.

No time to rest on her laurels, as we had one more monument to check off… sunset at Monument Valley…

And where did we finally lay our weary heads that evening? Tune in tomorrow to find out!

It will be a miracle if my photos ever download to give this post some pizzazz, but I’ve ferretted out a working WiFi and am attempting to blog again. If I can remember this far back. OK, so, when last we left I was in Moab, camping on the Colorado. I was soon to bid farewell to these red sandstone outcroppings, but first I thought I’d take Annie on a nice four-mile hike through what my brochure referred to as Negro Bill Canyon, but what the sign in the parking lot indicated was (Awkward Space) Bill Canyon. In any event, as I was stuffing my daypack, I noticed that Annie seemed to be reluctant to jump out of the camper. This was odd. A closer inspection revealed BLOOD OH MY GOD IT’S BLOOD coming from one of her back claws.

I’m not good with either blood or Annie trauma, so I went in to panic mode rather quickly. I had to drive about ten minutes to even find a parking lot where I could get online. The web (excellent medical resource that it is) seemed to indicate it was a minor injury that I could probably treat myself with: dog nail clippers, hot water, and a sterile surface. I had none of these. Luckily, Moab had an animal clinic just two miles away, so we flew there with all haste. The lovely vet technician reassured me it was a common malady in this area and easily remedied. I just had to lay Annie on her side and restrain her with my forearm across her neck while the vet did her work. No biggie (major biggie). In about ten minutes my girl was patched up, and we were on our way.

With the big hike off the agenda, I decided to pay one last visit to Arches to see a few spots I missed when Missouri Clinton had me heading for the hills.

         

One of the coolest spots is the Windows area, where the majority of the park’s many arches can be found. I think that’s what it was called anyway, who even remembers anymore, and for the love of god must everyone bring their drooling rugrats who are too young to care anyway with them to every golldarn National Park. I can’t even hear myself think between that and the distant vacuum cleaner, but the other spot that was supposed to have WiFi only had nattery twenty somethings . . . I think I’m ready to become a hermit.

          

ANYWAY! I remember these were called the spectacles and I was going to make some “clever” remark about feeling like I was being watched or some such.

And here’s some other archy things.

         

Soon enough we were on our way out of Moab and headed east (East?! Yes, East!) towards Colorado (Again?! Yes, again!). Not far past town I saw an intriguing sign looming over the highway . . .

I drove around to the other side and found . . .

. . . that’s right! One of the most AMAZEBALLS places on the planet!!!

Of course it has an outdoor arcade . . .

And a two story outhouse . . .

And Bigfoot . . .

         

Anyhow-it turns out that this shrine to awesomesauce was originally built as a home. Like, this dude, who had a homestead claim entitling him to this ginormous rock, decided to take half sticks of dynamite and blast some rooms into it. And then he made part of it a diner. Oh, and he also practiced taxidermy and KEPT HIS TAXIDERMIED HORSES AND MULES INSIDE THE HOME! Maybe like five years later he died. And then there’s his wife, Gladys, who agreed to live in a HOLE in a ROCK. With DEAD ANIMALS sharing the space. Who lived there while he continued to BLAST OUT new rooms. Who built her own soaking tub out of clay and plumbed it herself. Who designed and created their funeral plot out back. So Gladys decides to open the place as a museum, and runs it solo for the next TWENTY years while swanning about in fancy dresses and rock jewelry she made herself. For that reason Gladys is our Bad Ass Woman of the Day! (I’m so annoyed that I was finding these women everywhere, until I decided to make it a thing, and then POOF, they vanish! But Gladys for sure deserves the honor!)

The place is a total tourist trap, it even has a zoo with purported camel rides, (although I could never see over the fence), and given the “Bigfoot” sighting, it wouldn’t surprise me if you ended up riding a plastic camel or some such. But underneath all the claptrap and folderol is a really cool story about some really unique individuals. I was fascinated.

I could have hung around there all day and taken the tour a few more times (it is EXTREMELY unfortunate that they don’t allow photos inside, because that place was off the chain), but I had a date with some cliff dwellings. Yes, technically I did just spend an hour walking around a home built inside a rock wall, but I’m talking about the ORIGINAL old school cliff dwellers-the Anasazi-or-as we call them now the “Ancient Puebloans.” I was headed to Mesa Verde National Park.

Mesa Verde is the largest archeological preserve in the US, and it was created by Teddy Roosevelt (#letTeddywin) in response to some nefarious doings along the lines of the dude who moved all the cliff dwellings to Manitou Springs. Teddy wanted to make sure these ancient communities remained where they were built.

The park also has a legit museum with fascinating artifacts, not just old marketing props. See those brown things at the bottom of the case? Those are kernels of corn. That were stored in that urn. With the small bowl on top. And preserved totally undisturbed for THOUSANDS of years. Yes, I totally would have eaten some if I had found them.

As per usual on this trip I was a little too early in the season for all of the habitations to be open for exploring, but I did get to poke around the Spruce Tree House (not an actual treehouse). It was remarkably similar to the dwellings I had seen in Colorado Springs. Except for A.) being exactly where the original occupants built it, and B.) being FILLED WITH CHILDREN, Most of which were old enough to know better about how to behave. Most of these communities had a central kiva built underground-basically a ceremonial space. This one could be accessed via a ladder. That all the kids kept running up and down. So, you know, no chance for the adults to soak in the culture or anything. It was also cold and windy and a HUGE hike down (translation: huge hike back up afterwards), and I was basically over it. As you can see by my expression. I drove around a bit afterwards and saw a few other spots from overlooks, but I just wasn’t feeling it that day. There was also a LOT of driving just within the park to get where you needed to be.

         

I left the park and made a short drive to my “home” for the evening. Made sure not to stop at this place . . .

Annnd here we are . . . home sweet home!

         

Yup-it’s a 57 Chevy School Bus! Another Air B&B find. It’s not a cave blasted out of a rock or a limestone tower built under a cliff overhang, but for 2015 it’s pretty wild. Don’t worry, I didn’t go full Into The Wild . . . I made sure Annie gave the place a proper once over . . .

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Refrigerator for food and a comfy bed? Yup-we should be all set. And with that we collapsed in exhaustion. . .

Lemme just start by saying: ARCHES ROCKS! (Chuckles at terrible pun.)

Anyhoo, we awoke to a fabulously glorious (if a tad windy) morning in the Colorado River Recreation Area. Annie and I had such a nice time just pottering about the campsite (as best I can recall four days later) that it was hard to get going.

But get going we must! First stop-Arches National Park. Arches is an unbelievably gorgeous area of the desert that is chock full of cool sandstone formations. FULL OF THEM! Many (as you might surmise) in the shape of . . . arches. The ONLY downside to Arches is that they are SUPER dog unfriendly, and Annie wasn’t allowed anywhere other than the car. Mega bummer. Luckily, lots of the cool stuff can be seen by driving the main loop road and stopping at short overlooks or doing quickie 10 minute hikes. And I had something much more fun planned for her later.

Lots of the formations have been given cute anthropomorphic names-which is RIGHT up my alley. Couldn’t get a good shot of the penguin trio who greets you at the entrance, but the grouping on the left here is known as the Three Gossips, and if you squint you can see The Sheep off to their right. (The other photos you can make up your own names for.)

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Gotta love a park that gives me a shout out.

Even in the desert you can still find signs of spring.

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The most famous rock formation in the park, and the one that gets all the pub, is Delicate Arch. Unfortunately, to get a proper look at it, you really need to take the 3 mile STRENUOUS hike that is a mile uphill to get there and means leaving your dog all alone in the van for a few hours while you have fun without her. Not gonna happen. So I took a gander at it from the nearby overlook (which neglected to mention its “stroll” was about half a mile straight up). It’s also where I met Missouri Clinton. Clinton seemed like a nice enough chap, and struck up a conversation with me at the overlook. He was a little gripey though, complaining that he felt all the photos of the arches on signage had been photoshopped to make them seem MUCH more colorful than they actually were. I suggested that certain times of day and lighting could make them more striking, but he would have none of it. Next he declared that Delicate Arch was just too touristy and he was going to go off down a random dirt road instead. Ok then. Clinton seemed to be lingering a bit long, as I was ready to go and he had arrived before me, so I made my exit.

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Did I mention it was a bit windy? This area is known as the fiery furnace because at sunset the rocks glow so brightly it seems as if they are aflame (Suck it Missouri Clinton). The cracks and crevices are so narrow and twisty you can only hike down there with an authorized guide.

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Another super famous formation is Balanced Rock. This one has to be three times the size of the one in Garden of the Gods. Apparently, years ago, some dude insisted there was a layer of concrete affixing the ball to the pedestal. He refused to accept the Ranger’s assurance that this was not the case, and later got stuck atop the ten story structure attempting to prove himself right.

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Probably my FAVORITE spot in the park was the conglomeration known as Sand Dune Arch. To reach it, you pass through a crevice between several stones, and enter into a space with high smooth red walls rising all around you. The ground beneath your feet is cool sand, eroded over time from the surrounding rock, and protected from the days heat by the towering monoliths. Some of the rocks glow like highly polished copper, and the feeling is more akin to being in a cathedral than a desert.

The loveliness of the moment was marred however, when, upon exiting, I bumped into Missouri Clinton again. Didn’t go down that dirt road after all I guess.  Attempting to be friendly, I commented that this was a particularly spectacular spot. Clinton responded: “Maybe you could walk with me and show me.” Flustered, I said I couldn’t as I had to get back to my dog waiting in the car. As I hustled back to Marigold, I could hear him cry after me: “I only wanted to see if you would hang out with meeeee…” Ugh. Way to make it awks Clinton. I then spent the rest of the morning furtively darting from spot to spot, hoping not to run into him again and cursing my distinct lack of stealth mode when traveling in a wildly colorful hippie van. I ended up leaving early.

But the good news is, that meant it was ANNIE TIME! Following an online tip, we headed about 30 miles north to Dead Horse Point State Park, where Annie could gambol about the trails to her heart’s content. And gambol she did!

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The park has a jaw dropping overlook into yet another gorge formed by the Colorado River (spoiler alert-there will be more ahead).

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Now in full disclosure, I must say, that as much as Annie enjoyed this hike, and as amazeballs as the scenery was, I hadn’t prepared well. It was longer than I thought so I didn’t bring water, or chapstick, or a snack, and it was sunny so I was hot, and then it was WINDY so I was cold and I was never entirely sure where the trail was, and I was just cranky the whole time. Dudes, I am not joking about the wind, which you know I hate. This is not a reenactment.

Oh, and did I mention if you Google Moab it basically means red dirt every-flipping-where all the flipping time? This was taken within five minutes of exiting Marigold.

Giddy upon the heels of our (separately) fun explorations, we decided to get REAL adventurous and bust out the pie iron Allyson gave us to make dinner.  First up:a grilled cheese sandwich. Unfortunately my GOOD cheese was a casualty of #FridgeGate (something oozed out and leaked under the wrapper giving it a nasty taste). So I had to use my individually wrapped cheddar slices I brought for snacking.

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And the result???

Looks like I’ll be supplementing with a hot dog then.

So this is weird. Due to lack of internet connection the last few days, I’m writing about Sunday on Wednesday. And I’m three days behind. And today is going to be a long driving day so it’s not like I’ve got time to kill, or even a decent connection now but here we go.

Waking up on Easter morning was a very “on your own, far away from home, there doesn’t seem to be a friend when you’re alone” kind of feeling (Yes, it’s a Partridge Family lyric, you wanna make something of it?) It may have been the first time on the trip I really felt lonely and wished I was somewhere else. As previously mentioned, I’m not particularly religious, but Easter has always meant family to me: baskets and brunches and just spending time together. So it was weird to be in a sterile hotel room with no plans to see anyone all day. But such is the life of an intrepid explorer. There were many miles to cover before nightfall, so after a holiday pig’s ear for Annie,  it was time to hop in Marigold and roll on out of Colorado.

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Much of the day was spent driving through the Rockies. The scenery was spectacular, although neither Marigold nor I much cared for the constant ups and downs of the highway. Also it was cold. And kind of gray. And even though I had the campervannie washed yesterday, the windshield was already bugging up again. I was in a mood.

I will say, that other than the Rockies looming over everything, the suburbs of Denver could easily pass for the suburbs of Northern Virginia. Very similar architecture, housing styles, big box stores, etc. . . It was the most “at home” I had felt in weeks. Also of note, and I assume this has something to do with the altitude, when I refilled my gas tank halfway through the Rockies, it took the needle like fifteen minutes to make it’s way back to F.

The audio book I was listening to made reference to the Easter Parade in New York City (do they still do that?), and it reminded me of my other favorite Easter tradition, watching the Fred Astaire/Judy Garland movie of the same name. I’d randomly discovered it on TV at my grandparent’s as a kid, and have watched it every year since. I was sad again.  Looking for any sort of excitement, I noticed a sign for a wildlife overlook and pulled off the highway into a charming little mountain town called Georgetown. Parts of Georgetown looked as historic and arty as the one I know from back home, but it definitely lacked the traffic issues.

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It also had a stunning waterfront.

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But unlike Georgetown DC, Georgetown CO isn’t known for its elephants and donkeys. No, this town is all about the sheep. Bighorn Sheep – Colorado’s state animal. And there was a viewing station set up with fancy binoculars trained on this one particular mountain side where the sheep were apparently paid to promenade about for the amusement of silly tourists. Only I guess because it was Easter Sunday, they were all off duty, so what I saw was bupkiss. And it was cold and windy, and there was only so long I was going to stand there like an idiot staring at an empty mountain. So here’s the mountain. Maybe those of you who excelled at interpreting the Colorado City street sign can play “Where’s Sheepdo?” with better success.

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About fifty miles down the road, just outside of Vail, I finally saw three bighorn sheep all but standing on the highway. Alas, I was on the phone with my Dad and couldn’t get a photo. Just picture sheep with twirly antlers.

The scenery seemed to change almost constantly. One minute it’s towering snowcapped peaks, the next you’re driving THROUGH a mountain, then it’s yellow Texas-style limestone only with tall skinny pines, and then rolling red rock sandstone.

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And FINALLY, you’re leaving colorful Colorado and heading on into Utah.

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Utah seems flatter, a little greener (at first) and with rolling plains leading to the La Salle mountains in the SouthWest. It seems deserted on the highway? Perhaps because it’s Easter Sunday and this is a more religious state? Or because there’s nothing here? Rock formations start to crop up, some look like wrinkled elephants flomped down upon the earth.

And FINALLY, FINALLY. . .  we came to a stop in Moab, Utah. During my down time in Colorado Springs, I had researched camping in Arches National Park and Dead Horse Point State Park – the two places we planned to spend the bulk of our time. And both were bursting at the seams full. I wasn’t super worried as I had read that there were an abundance of other BLM (Bureau of Land Management) areas with camping spots in the surrounding area. And this time my poor planning skills paid off. Instead of a dry, dusty desert campsite like we would have had in either of the parks, we pulled right in to a GORGEOUS spot right on the Colorado River with cool red rock formations towering all around us!

The wind was finally absent, we had made good time on the road, and in a setting so perfect, it was time to do some REAL camping! I cranked up the stove for another Spaghettios feast, made an ACTUAL fire in the fire pit, and found the perfect way to celebrate Easter on the road . . . Reeses Peanut Butter Egg Smores. People I am NOT joking-they are the bomb! You need these in your life. Happy Easter/Passover/Spring to you all (a bit belated).

Woke up still feeling exhausted. Even with a twelve o’clock checkout time I was struggling to get it together to get back on the road. And I was facing a long drive day. Several folks had mentioned recently that I shoulda (coulda woulda) built in some rest days. It seemed like my body was telling me that now would be a good time to do just that. So, with no small sense of guilt and frustration because I had JUST gotten back on schedule after the Texas detour, and now I was going to have to cross ANOTHER item off my list, I called a Time Out, and extended my stay for one more night at the Colorado Springs Residence Inn.

Enjoyed a hearty breakfast . . .

. . . and later Annie and I recharged at lunch with some deliciously nourishing Chicken Soup for the Terrier Soul . . .

Still later in the afternoon, my faithful companion was getting restless, so I decided to take her for a longer walk at Garden of the Gods. This MAY have been a mistake. The place was PACKED. The two parking lots that accessed the trail I wanted to hike were completely full, and it was hard to navigate the one-way road that winds through the park because so many folks had pulled over at unauthorized stops for photo taking. Finally we parked at the Visitors Center and walked across the busy highway to get to a different trail that was filled with bicycles swarming and weaving about.  And then I started to realize that it wasn’t just the non-stop pace of the previous nineteen days that was leaving me so tired – it’s the altitude stupid. I was winded before we even started the walk, just going into the Visitors Center to use the restroom. If we hadn’t driven ten miles to get there, and if it weren’t for Annie needing to stretch her paws, I probably would have given up at that point! I was wiped. I don’t think I’ve stopped being wiped the whole time I’ve been here. I’m almost 7,000 feet above sea level and my body does NOT like it! We did a snail’s pace hike for about an hour and I made a failed attempt to do a smoochie face selfie in front of the kissing camels and then I was spent.

         

It did remind me of a funny story I forgot to put in yesterday’s blog though. So, when I first arrived at Garden of the Gods, I parked Marigold in the Visitors Center, and got out to meet Carol. For convenience sake we used her car to travel around the park. Later on, when we decided to drive over to the Manitou Cliff Dwellings, I asked in the “Trading Post” how late I could leave my van at the Visitor Center. I was assured 9pm. No problem. We toured the dwellings and returned to the parking lot around 5:30pm. Only to find the lot COMPLETLY devoid of vehicles other than the Campervannie and locked gates blocking both entrances. (And a sign saying “These gates close at 5pm-you’d really be an idiot to leave your car here past that” (or words to that effect.) PANIC!!! What was I going to do? Leave the van overnight? Carol was planning on leaving town after dinner so how would I get back there? On Carol’s suggestion I climbed under the gate, got in the van, and drove around the lot looking for hidden exits. Nada. I drove close to the gate to see if it might open automatically. Negatory. I was out of options when Carol said “Hey, what’s that slip of paper under your windshield wiper?”  Oh that? Nothing? THAT’S JUST A PIECE OF PAPER SAYING ‘PSSST-SOUTH GATE IS ONLY FAKE LOCKED YOU CAN TOTALLY GET OUT THAT WAY MORON!’ (or words to that effect). So the day was saved once again.

Getting back to the present, after our pathetic walk attempt at GotG, I decided to swing by the nearby historic district of Old Colorado City. Old Colorado City was originally established in 1859 to serve as a supply center for all the gold prospectors crying “Pike’s Peak or Bust!” and racing to find riches in them thar hills. It was also established as the first capital of the territory of Colorado. However, when they assembled to have a legislative meeting, they found the log cabin which had been provided for them (pictured below) hopelessly inadequate, and said “Screw it, let’s go to Denver” (or words to that effect). Now it’s a cute little area in Colorado Springs with historic buildings filled with artsy shops and tasty restaurants. It also has a central park with THE seediest portapotties I’ve ever been in. Seriously, there was a soiled teddy bear floating in one.

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I would also be greatly appreciative if anyone can translate the sentence on the top part of this sign.

Anyhow, that shopping stroll took the last of the life from me. I was too light-headed to even focus on making a purchase (other than a pig’s ear for Annie), so we returned to the hotel (with a pizza) for an evening of utter laziness and lounging.

It was cold. Mega cold. So cold that I woke up in the middle of the night to find Annie shivering and covered her in fleeces. So cold that when I woke up a second time she was curled around my head for warmth, so I brought her into the sleeping bag. Cold. But the wind had died down by the time the sun came up and the campground was deserted and it was stunningly gorgeous-the kind of morning that makes you feel glad to be alive. So glad that I boiled some water for some oatmeal and busted out my fancy toast maker (burning my finger in the process). Annie and I explored the area a bit more, climbed on some rocks, and, if you’re not sick of gorge pictures yet, discovered the spot where the Red River and Rio Grande converge.

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And then once again it was time to saddle up Marigold and hit the trail. It’s funny how living on the road makes you lose all sense of time or date. I was vaguely aware that it was Easter weekend from being on social media, but, and not being an overly religious person myself, was still shocked to see a parade of twenty or so people walking along the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere New Mexican Plains, their leader carrying a cross with Jesus nailed upon it. They were headed to a tiny church I had just passed (and sensibly wearing hi-visibility jackets, which, while taking away from the striking visual nature of their message, was still a solid idea, even if there was only one other car on the road). Other than that, the high plains were fairly flat and empty, the occasional ranch sign or smattering of cows the only thing to break the monotony. But all that was about to change as we crossed the border into . . .

Yes, my windshield is in desperate need of cleaning, no it’s not that colorful (yet) even with a little photo enhancement. The first thing I noticed about Colorado is that it almost immediately gets a lot more Western feeling architecturally than New Mexico. Bye bye adobe and hello wooden storefronts and saloons. The second thing I noticed was that . . . they care about ditches??

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This is the San Luis People’s Ditch-the Oldest Continuously Used Ditch in Colorado! Dug by hand by pioneer settlers! Further down on the plaque it notes “Colorado’s Greatness is Built Upon Irrigation.” Yay irrigation! And to think this wasn’t even on my original itinerary!

Fresh off that excitement, we soon rolled in to Colorado’s Oldest Town! I know this because it’s spelled out in rocks on the side of a hill . . .

Further on we passed what was not labeled as such, but may well be, Colorado’s oldest Safeway grocery store, as they apparently offer parking for Model T’s.

Outside of Walsenburg Colorado, we passed a clever marketing strategy for a local artist (Yes, I’ve “liked” him.)

But the main excitement for today was going to be meeting up with another familiar face- Carol Roberts! Carol was one of my Mom’s dearest friends, who has since retired to Colorado to be closer to her family. She’s taken many solo adventures of her own, including 3 weeks following the Lewis and Clark Trail, and has been an invaluable source of inspiration and advice for my own journey. And yesterday she drove about two hours to meet us and provide just the balm these weary travelers needed (and I don’t even mean the homemade chicken soup she brought us!)

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We met in Colorado Springs at Garden of the Gods, a really cool park with amazing red rock formations popping up out of the ground, and the stunning snow capped Rocky Mountains in the distance. The area was an important spot for many Native American tribes for centuries, but was “discovered’ by two surveyors in 1859. The first, M.S. Beach, suggested it would be “a capital place for a beer garden,” but his friend, Rufus Cable, replied “Beer Garden! Why it is a fit place for the gods to assemble, we will call it Garden of the Gods!” Interestingly, no alcohol of any kind is now permitted in the park.

This formation is called “Kissing Camels”

See the ripple pattern in the rock? Those ripples indicate the rock once lay at the bottom of a streambed, but it has now been pushed into a vertical position.

Signature rock has hundreds of dates and initials carved into it, some of which have been dated back to the 1800s.

Balance Rock is the most popular spot for pictures. Back before this area was a public park, one enterprising gentleman, Paul Goerke, purchased the land surrounding just this rock and charged tourists 25 cents a pop for photo ops. He even kept handy a pack of burros which folks could pose upon. As time went on and technology advanced, people started toting their own cameras around and didn’t need his services any longer. This didn’t stop old Paul though, he simply constructed a wooden fence and charged the twenty five cents for admission, and even set up a lunch counter nearby for additional revenue. The locals literally cheered in the streets when his land was eventually acquired by the park.

      

Annie always has to take intrepid explorations to the next level.

After a chilly hike through the park, Carol was kind enough to indulge me in a visit to another intriguing site nearby, the Manitou Cliff Dwellings. This location has been a tourist attraction since 1907, and purports to be preserved cliff homes of the ancient Anasazi Indians (like 1200 BC ancient), the forerunners of the Pueblo people I encountered in Taos and Santa Fe. But everything just looked a little too “perfect.” And there were homes representing several different time periods all lined up in a neat little row right next to each other.

         

Some Googling after the fact seems to reveal that these WERE at one point actual Anasazi homes, but they were discovered several hundred miles Southwest of here, in the Four Corners area, and were later shipped by railroad to Colorado Springs and reassembled as an attraction. It’s still pretty cool, and fascinating to see the tiny rooms they lived in built underneath a cliff ledge. Doors and windows were kept small so that they could easily have stones rolled in front of them to protect from attackers. The age of the ruins can be accurately dated by comparing rings in the wooden posts used for drying animal meat alongside the rings in nearby trees. Known years with certain stressors such as flood or drought will be recognizable in the rings, and the earlier dates determined from there.

One of my favorite things about the site is that both people and pets alike are permitted to wander and explore anywhere, all throughout the ruins.

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And not just through the ruins, but through the gift shop and museum! They had a nice refreshing bowl of water set out for pups, and . . . hold up a minute . . . umm . . . no Annie, I don’t think that bin of lucky rabbit’s feet was intended as an activity station for you!

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One thing I learned fairly quickly is that altitude sickness is no joke. I was winded even more easily than normal considering we were walking on primarily flat terrain, and both Annie and I needed frequent rehydration (which Carol never let us forget!) By the end of the day I was exhausted. Carol to the rescue yet again! She treated me to an excellent meal at a funky little place called Shuga’s and then put Annie and me up in a Residence Inn for one of our last scheduled indulgences in clean sheets and hot showers. It was such a fun day, and in a way almost felt like my mom was there, as Carol treated me like her own daughter and went along with all my silly ideas just like Mom would have. I barely had time to root through the goody bag she left me with before drifting off to dreamland.

Annie and I slept the sleep of the gods in Laurie’s luxurious Santa Fe retreat. Upon waking, she insisted on taking us for breakfast at a darling tea shop on the art mecca that is Canyon Road. Annie and I split a scone and some bacon, but I kept the Mexican Hot Chocolate all to myself.

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While Laurie tried to navigate the broken parking lot pay machine, I spotted a nearby coin changer and saw my chance to get some needed quarters for laundry and parking meters. So I fed in a dollar and was rewarded with . . . a dollar. Coin. Well, that will be exceedingly useful. After that fiasco, I enjoyed the luxury of the passenger seat while Laurie gave us the grand tour of the older homes and grand estates of Santa Fe. Annie made several attempts to claim the driver’s seat, but was denied.

All too soon we had to bid farewell to our hostess with the mostess and make one more foray into the heart of the city to tie up a few loose ends. Number One was an interesting phenomena I had heard much about, the Miraculous Staircase of the Loretto Chapel. As legend has it, when this small chapel was originally built carpenters could find no way to give access to the choir loft other than an ungainly ladder or a staircase that would take up too much square footage in the tiny space. So the Sisters of the Chapel made a special prayer to St. Joseph, Patron Saint of Carpenters, for assistance. Nine days later a man with a toolbox appeared on a donkey. He crafted an astounding double spiral staircase that required no support from either the walls or the center. An engineering marvel that is not fully understood to this day. And then he left, without leaving his name or accepting payment. Originally, the staircase didn’t even have railings, those were added later. Here I present you with both a scale rendering and selfie version, but it’s so much more impressive in person.

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By random, but fitting, chance I seem to be visiting a lot of sacred sites during Holy Week. I do like to be thematically matching. So I decided to pop by one more: San Miguel Mission, the oldest church structure in America, constructed in 1610 by the Tlaxcalan Indians.

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Alas, my time in Santa Fe was all too short, but I wanted to throw in a few more shots just to give you the artsy  flavor of the place.

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And an other #Elvissighting!

And also, also . . . no need to make a separate trip to Walgreen’s AND the liquor store, in Santa Fe they’re one and the same!

Finally there could be no more stalling, and it was back into Marigold and up north towards Taos (and beyond) again. I was headed for a particular destination, and, as luck would have it, there was no way to reach it without once again going down (or rather up) my arch nemesis road, the one that tried to kill me a few days ago. But this time I was ready for it. Annnnndddd . . . it turns out that the spot where I chickened out and U-turned last time was about 1/4 mile from the end of the scary part. So I could have totally made it to the hot springs. FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD! NOT THE U-TURNERS!

I found myself on the surprisingly flat high plains of Northern New Mexico. Headed to the spectacular Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, the seventh highest bridge in the country. My photo of the actual bridge is crapola compared to ones easily found via Google, but what Google won’t show you is HOW VERY VERY VERY VERY FLIPPING WINDY IT WAS!!

Seriously, there was a period when I couldn’t even get the van door shut it was so gusty! WHOOOOOOSH!

The wind was at our backs as we continued northwards to our (all but deserted) camping destination for the night: Wild Rivers Recreation Area. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

         

Scenes around camp (where the wind continues to gust to 30 mph, and this van is rockin’, but feel free to come knockin’!)

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The highlight of dinner was some bizcochitos (New Mexico’s State Cookie)  and Annie got to try on the  fancy new St. Francis bling I purchased for her.

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We hiked around a tiny bit, but the blustery winds and appearance of a strange vehicle soon drove us back into Marigold’s warm embrace where I’ve made a little shrine of my own to cheer us and look after us when we feel especially far from home. (My Mom painted the angel Christmas ornament and I just rediscovered it a few months ago).

Next up: Colorado!

Woke up feeling like crap balls. The cold is back and it brought a migraine with it. Even soaking in my trusty slipper tub and watching the cows graze only helped marginally. Jean, the lovely woman who owns the boxcar, graciously, and without even knowing of my plight, encouraged me to stay as long as I would like and even offered to let me spend an additional night at a reduced rate. Alas, duty called, so after a slightly extended snooze in – Marigold was loaded up and spinning her wheels: it was time to retrace our steps to Santa Fe.

After receiving several suggestions to do so, we chose to take the “High Road” between Taos and Santa Fe. It’s properly called the “High Road to Taos,” but we were being rebels and taking it backwards. Which meant reading all the Googled directions end to start. What could possibly go wrong? (Spoiler alert: Nothing did.)

Fairly quickly, the road starts winding through the mountains, and all of a sudden we’re treated to glimpses of tall skinny REAL pine trees and . . . what’s that . . . it couldn’t be. . . SNOW!

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The road rolled on, passing through tiny little quirky towns where a resident would have a chain of gold painted bicycles lining their garden, or the sole restaurant would be called Sugar Nymphs. Soon we were back in the desert, which reminded me of a milestone I forgot to mention a few days back. Annie and I saw our second tumbleweed today! (The first was outside of White Sands Monument I believe). So cool!

(Note: This photo was recreated  with another, non-tumbling tumbleweed. The official second tumbleweed tumbled too quickly for capture.)

Further down the road, at a scenic overlook, while I stopped to take in the sweeping panoramas. . .

         

Annie was doing . . . this . . .

That’s right. She found a giant mound of dirt and enthusiastically set to woogling in it.

Did somebody mention dirt? Well, I think I did, and I’m not sure you’re ready for our next detour, brilliantly pointed out to me by a friend who shall be named later. Just outside of Santa Fe is El Santuario de Chimayo, or, as I prefer to call it, the Shrine of the Holy Dirt. All kidding aside, this small church, built in 1815, is the most visited Catholic pilgrimage site in the country, and is known as the American Lourdes. If I were to have visited visited on Friday, there would have been thousands with me, some having walked miles, and some carrying crosses.

         

The name of the town, Chimayo, refers to hot springs that were sacred to the local Pueblo Indians. As (one) legend has it, before the church was built, a group of priests were conducting some religious rites one Good Friday on a hill nearby. One of them saw a mysterious light in the distance, followed it, and found a cross half buried in the dirt. The cross was removed and carried in a procession to the nearest church, ten miles away. The next morning, the cross had mysteriously disappeared from the church and returned itself to its original locale. The foolish priests had to dig the darn thing up twice more before they got the message that it wasn’t going anywhere! So, since the Mohammad wouldn’t come to the mountain, they simply built a new church over the spot.

And here’s the best part. The hole where the cross was found is still there. And many believe that the dirt has magical healing powers! So for the last two centuries, folks have been coming to this spot and helping themselves to the dirt, and yet THE HOLE NEVER RUNS OUT OF DIRT! IT MAGICALLY REPLENISHES! (Please note: Step Doug bought me this exact same trowel from Amazon in case I needed to bury my poop while camping. Make of that what you will.)

But, if you’re going to dig up some magic holy dirt and take it home with you to cure your migraines (hypothetically), well what are you going to put it in???

HOLY DIRT BAGS OF COURSE!!! (Note: Holy Dirt Bags is going to be my new favorite interjection.)

I also bought a corndog (recurring theme) which I figure may have been somewhat prepared with the Holy Water they also have, so that’s gotta help knock out this cold right?

Our pilgrimage complete, it was on, at long last, to Santa Fe. Of course, by then it was late in the day, and there was no time for much more than a stroll around the plaza (plazas don’t photograph well)

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Time was short as I had to make haste for a secret assignation. Annie and I were to be wined and dined and treated like the Queen and lady’s maid we are. By none other than the one and only Laurie W, out here in Santa Fe as well by total coincidence!

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Laurie took me to Cafe Pasqual’s, an authentic New Mexican restaurant right off the plaza: the food was delicious, the atmosphere was adorable, and the Tres Leche cake was to die for. We had total fun and it was awesome to see and spend time with a familiar face. Afterwards, Laurie put us up in her dad’s gorgeous home with spectacular views of the sunset over the mountains and then the glittering lights of the city at night. Annie was allotted the master suite with aforementioned amazeballs views, king size bed, comfy lounging bed, and private courtyard. As was only fitting.

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Another New Mexico sunrise, another leisurely soak in my clawfoot tub. (Another morning spent evacuating approximately seven gallons of mucus from my head, before you get too jelly.) Acting on a tip from our Air B&B hostess, Annie and I went in search of a scenic hiking trail. Our progress was delayed somewhat, as it appeared one of the locals was moving house…literally…

But once we arrived at our destination, boy did we hit the jackpot! It started out as standard issue New Mexican loveliness…

. . . but turn a corner, and the next thing you know you’re being treated to jaw dropping views of the Rio Grande Gorge!!

Yes, that’s a rushing river hundreds of feet down there, and yes, it’s the same one I nearly plunged to my death in the other day. Hikers can walk right to the edge of the precipice, even wander out on a rock overlooking it with a recalcitrant dog on a string, and take their chances at stumbling to a watery grave.

And all this beauty is not contained in some official park or designated recreational area, it’s just a random trail at the end of a random road that I never would have discovered on my own. Hiking along, not a care in the world, basking in the sunlight, and feeling like we could be miles from any signs of civilization Annie and I were thoroughly enjoying the morning.

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And then! What’s this?!?! DANGER DANGER!! Trouble detected ahead!! Three strange men approaching, locate the panic alarm and start plotting an escape route!!

But wait… zoom in a little closer on that picture. Oh. I see. That massive stranger danger out here in the wilderness is just three regular dudes . . . two of them pushing baby carriages. That’s ABOUT as non-threatening as three strange dudes are gonna be. And apparently we’re not lost in the Amazon JUST yet.

A little further along we had another close encounter of the “looks downright terrifying at first but is actually quite harmless” kind. Annie apparently prefers her critters either furred or feathered as she didn’t even bat an eyelash at Stanley here. Props to any of my naturalist friends who can give a positive ID on that bad boy.

Our next stop was one of the most famous buildings in Taos, as well as one of the most photographed and painted churches in the world. Built in the late 1700’s as a refuge against Comanche attacks, the San Francisco de Asis Mission Church has been artistically recreated by legends like Georgia O’Keefe and Ansel Adams… but I bet neither of them ever thought to do a selfie!

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Taos is a weirdly wonderful place. Where the unexpected can happen at any moment.

Where you can glance in to a coffee shop at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Monday and see two men waltzing together.

Where you can make sparkly denim happen.

Where you can look down on your hike and find a mustachioed poo bag (unused).

Or where the following can occur:

Late in the day I decided to stop for a cocktail (oh, and lunch) at Doc Martin’s Restaurant at Historic Taos Inn. As far as I can tell this Doc Martin is unrelated to either the clunky boot maker, or Donna Martin’s dad. But he WAS one of the founding figures of Taos, and after his death his wife turned their home into an inn.

The eagle-eyed may have spotted my fancy new turkwaz earrings. They may have been a smidge out of budget, but within five minutes of purchasing and donning them I was flirted with by a gentlemen. Now Mamood has a good 20 years on me and not his ENTIRE allotment of teeth, but he was quite nattily dressed and a business owner, and he LOVED my Zuni earrings. SO much so that he had to keep touching them. And then my face. But he did seem quite enamored with me in my current boxcar/van livin’ state of style, so there’s that.

And then…

I was admiring the two dogs seated with a couple at the table next to me when something caught my eye. “Excuse me, (I say) is your dog’s collar the Maryland flag?” “Why yes it is!” “How cool, I’m from Virginia!” … and it continues until I discover that the woman (Pat) is from Hamilton Virginia which is literally two towns over from my town, and she teaches pottery classes like a mile from my house! In fricking Taos! They were kind enough to invite Annie and I to join them (and Lucy and T-Bone) for drinks and swapping stories. In the course of conversation I mention my current lack of employment status, my past experience in writing, editing, and marketing, and my desire to pursue same going forward. And then it turns out that Greg (the dude) has a brother-in-law who does freelance work in the same field, in a town nearby to mine, and occasionally places other folks in such positions. So I scored a name and an e-mail address for a possible job contact when I return! Result! They were lovely, fun people (with lovely, sweet rescue dogs), and I just had the best time chatting with them. East Coast represent!

Had perhaps the best sleep of the trip so far on the sweet little bed tucked away at the end of the boxcar. Could totally have been a hobo. Totally. Feasted on homemade granola and enjoyed a leisurely soak in the slipper tub. Debated saying “screw Taos” and spending the day nestled in cozy comfort. BUT-that is not what your intrepid explorer has set out to do, so explore intrepidly we MUST!

First up on the docket was a visit to Taos Pueblo-one of the oldest continually inhabited places in the US and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The Pueblo sits on a reservation of roughly 95,000 acres encompassing some rolling foothills along with the sacred Taos Mountain. Only about 100-150 Native Americans still live there, but their homes are devoid of electricity and running water and they still adhere to many of the ancient traditions and customs.

I got there just in time for one of the free guided tours, led by friendly college student Jerome. Jerome started us off at the church of St. Jerome (no relation) which was built in the late 1800s. The walls are made of a three foot thick layer of adobe (basically mud, straw, and water) and the church still celebrates a Catholic Mass every Sunday. No photos are allowed inside, but the wall behind the altar is covered in brightly colored saints and images of the Virgin Mary (who they worship for her close resemblance to Mother Earth).

 

Next we visited the ruins of the original church from the 1600s. It was destroyed once when the Pueblo natives revolted against the colonizing Europeans, and again by the US Cavalry. The cemetery was still in use until a few years ago. A closer look shows a pile of wooden crosses stacked near the old bell tower. These crosses, which have fallen from older graves, are neither replaced nor destroyed, simply kept in the cemetery out of respect.

This next building is the pride of the community: North House. The dwelling has been continually occupied for over 1,000 years, and holds historical significance as one of the few remaining multi-story adobe homes. It’s basically like an apartment house, and each door leads to a separate dwelling. Originally, the only access would have been through ladders leading to ceiling entrances. So if you lived on the third floor you had to climb up three ladders and then one down into the house. That’ll get your cardio up!

Many of the homes have been partially converted into storefronts where artisans sell their wares. There are also loose dogs roaming everywhere, but as the Pueblo people do not regard dogs as pets, I left Annie at home to avoid traumatizing her with the sight! I “may” have purchased a cool silver bracelet stamped with symbols of varying meanings and some traditional fry bread cooked in an adobe oven.

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On my way out of the Pueblo, I crossed over a river which the people still depend upon as their primary source of water. The trees surrounding it have given them the name “People of the Red Willows.”

All this learnin’ had worked me up a powerful appetite, so I headed to the central Taos Plaza for lunch at The Gorge, of which I was told two things: 1.) the site of the restaurant was originally the site of the “hanging tree” where revolting Pueblo people were murdered, and 2.) it would be a great spot for people-watching due to all the activity in the plaza. (please note all the bustling Plaza activity)

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After days when my typical mid-day meal consisted of a handful of granola and a cheddar cheese chunk, a proper lunch with black bean soup and chicken tacos left me feeling like this…

I sluggishly drug my bloated belly along the Plaza which was comprised of: one half tacky souvenirshops (AGAIN with the ELVIS?)…

. . . and one half cool galleries featuring the paintings, pottery, and jewelry of local artists. As the plaza was all but deserted, and I HATE being the only customer in a shop, as you then become the laser focus of all attention (seriously, getting up from your chair in the back and coming all the way to the front to literally hover over me does NOT make me want to relax and peruse your goods for sale), I only peeked my snout into most of them.

Even when not shopping, it’s neat to see how different a retail zone looks when most of the buildings are adobe, even the McDonalds…

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After a quick jaunt back to the boxcar for Annie’s afternoon constituitional (she was having a snoozy day), I set off for a place I had heard much about and was eager to visit: Ojo Caliente Hot Springs. Basically a really cool spa with hot springs (duh) in cliffside pools and a mud bath area and loads of intriguing offerings. Hey-it can’t be roughing it all the time! So, under the guidance of my new sherpa, Google Maps, I set off down the typical twisty, windy, dusty, bumpy roads that seem to comprise all of Taos’ infrastructure (sorry-my mind is struggling to think right now as a STOOPID FLICKER WOODPECKER IS INCESSANTLY DRUMMING ON THE SIDE OF THE BOXCAR!) and then suddenly, I was on a different type of road altogether. This one was dirt and gravel and potholes and bumps and maaaybe a lane and a half, and going straight up into the sky, and did I mention OHMYGOD THERE IS AN ENORMOUS GORGE ON THE SIDE AND NO GUARDRAIL, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!

            

I wish these photos conveyed how truly terrifying it was. If my eyes weren’t squinting you could read the sheer panic in them. AND there was no cell service to call for assistance once I plummeted to my demise. Halfway up my nerve failed me. I decided this wasn’t the hill I wanted to die on, and made my way back down. I couldn’t believe ANYONE would endure this for a spa treatment. Surely the return trip AT DUSK would undo any destressing that had been accomplished. Once I could reattach myself to the internet, a perusal of the spa’s website revealed this to be an ALTERNATE route. For those who enjoy “spectacular scenery.” Thanks Google Maps.

Sufficiently shaken, I repaired to my boxcar and faithful hound for a lite dinner, some good cuddles, and a soak in the hot tub.