I believe that the last time I posted a
significant update I was seated in the lobby of the Motel 6 in
Carlsbad, NM. Suffice to say that circumstances have changed between
then and now as I am currently perched dozens of feet from the Sea of
Cortez in the luxurious comfort of the Esperanza Resort in Los Cabos.
Nothing against Motel 6, but they ain't got nothin' on this. I am
taking a vacation from my travels so to speak in order to spend a
little time with my Dad and step-Mom. However, you don't want to
hear all about the humpback whales that are spouting on the other
side of my margarita, do you? As Kermit once sang so eloquently,
“getting there is half the fun.” I hope that he's right, because
getting here has been a blast, and I'm really looking forward to the
other half.
From our deluxe accommodations in
Carlsbad it was extremely obvious that our charted course was going
to send us through days of weather that can only be described by Jeep
travelers as intolerable cruelty. Accordingly we scrapped our plans
and decided to beat a hasty retreat to the South. The Jeep obviously
agreed since it definitely performs better heading West and South than
it does heading East or North.
Seeing as we had already made a few
adjustments to our agenda in the weeks on the road, we approached
Plan J with open minds and an eye toward the thin gray lines that
drifted across the map in between the bold courses laid out by the
Interstate system. We hit the road early in order to make it to the
first descent of the day into Carlsbad Caverns. For some reason we
were worried about crowds, but the weather had convinced all but the
most stubborn, stupid, and time pressed travelers to stay in bed
today. We got to the visitors center moments before they opened, and
joined an assembled crowd of 6 taking pictures of frozen cacti and
desert snow. We had been planning this stop from weeks, but neither
Jason or I knew much more about Carlsbad Caverns than that there were
caverns there, and it was right outside of Carlsbad. If there's one
thing this trip has taught me, it's that the National Park
Service often rewards blind faith. I have yet to visit a “bad” park and, especially in the
West, they've done an incredible job of finding, preserving, and
interpreting geological anomalies and wonders that are truly awe
inspiring. Actually, if this trip has taught me one thing I suppose
it would be how to shift a manual transmission without using the
clutch, so maybe I've learned a couple of things already. Mom would
be so proud.
The Caverns themselves were amazing.
It's as if God spent years down there making those little drizzle
castles we built on the beach when we were kids, and then decided to
show off my flipping the world upside down and doing it on the
ceiling as well. The walking path through the Cathedral Room alone
is over a mile long. Yes, a mile. Underground. Through a cave.
Awesome. There are several other rooms to explore in the cavern
system, but we decided that the pictures of White Sands National
Monument were too inviting to pass by, so we loaded up and headed
West through Guadeloupe Mtn National Park which deserves more than
the passing glance we gave it on our way to White Sands.
In a sign of things to come we opted
for the scenic route which combined breathtaking views with
underestimated travel times in a way that defined every stereotype of
the term. We arrived at White Sands 20 minutes before they shut down
for the day and were rewarded with a spectacular sunset that defied
being bottled up in my camera in any semblance of its natural beauty.
Once the show was over and the stars began to show themselves in the
clear desert sky, old man winter decided once again to ride shotgun
in DIE TAN as we rumbled toward Los Cruses, NM. I think Jason's
brain froze solid half way through the mountains, but once he
realized we were headed into a college town he shook the groggy haze
from his head and worked on finding us a safe haven for the night
near the undergraduate dorms.
Perfectly located in between the liquor
store and the Whattaburger was the Teakwood Inn with an indoor pool
and free breakfast. It took us a while to defrost that night, but
eventually we made our way to the High Desert Brewing Company which
lived up to its reputation as the home of high caliber beers and
comfortable atmosphere. It also continued to prove my theory that
most great bars could be re-named “8 Dudes and One Hot Chick.”
Of course she left within minutes of our arrival, and we turned our
attention to the beers at hand and the stories of the other guys
pushing the limits of last call. Fortunately our motley crew
provided hours of entertainment, and an earful of good advice for the
journey ahead. Our bartender Luke kept everyone's thoughts well
lubricated as Ernesto described windsurfing in Los Cabrilles with so
much enthusiasm that I thought he was going to run out the door and
sprint all the way there at any moment. Matt, the brewmaster
(“Brew-Daddy thank you very much.”) rolled his eyes and headed
into the kitchen to work on some late night snacks. Chris was the
East Coast transplant who tried to keep us all under control, or at
least keep Ernesto from launching into orbit. Not a bad crowd for a
Sunday night in New Mexico. We're getting to the point in the trip
where just about everywhere someone has some first hand advice on
Baja. This is a welcome change from the “Ba-who?” I heard in
Mississippi, or the constant advice not to drink the water we get
from gas station attendants and waitresses in the conversations that
follow their bewildered looks at the Jeep.
From Las Cruses we continued West
across New Mexico with an eye on the Arizona border, and sunnier
weather. Still bundled up in every piece of clothing we can find we
decide that the best spot to stop for lunch is the winery advertising
free tastings. It would prove to be a fateful decision to say the
least.
As we wandered through the door and
took our stools at the tasting bar we met Darrel, our tour guide for
the afternoon. He informed us that the free wine tasting was
limited, but for $3 we could try 6 wines rather than 1. Sold! As we
worked our way through the tasting menu Darrel further informed us that the
NM school system had left him a little rusty in the math department,
and that it would be our responsibility to let him know when the 6th
bottle had been poured. Needless to say we tried everything at
least twice and eroded a fair amount of the afternoon right there at
the St. Claire tasting bar. Realizing that this would necessitate
yet another change in plans we asked Darrel for his recommendations
for camping and dinner. “Over the hill there and off the dirt road
by the dairy there's a dry river bed. Follow it to the mountainside
and you'll find an old platinum mine where you guys could camp if you
want.” Seriously? Did he just say platinum mine? Excellent.
After he told us about the Mexican butcher we stocked up on red wine
and hit the road for old Mexico.
At the border we parked the Jeep,
walked to the butcher shop and ordered dinner by holding a thumb and
index fingers about 3 inches apart and adding a crappy accent to
“T-bone... dos por favor.” Our mangled Spanish produced mixed
results as we left the store with 7 thick cuts of steak our man cut
with a giant jig saw while we searched for charcoal. We raced North
beneath a setting sun, and returned to town as darkness set in.
After finding the dirt road and the
river bed we were about ½ a mile from the mountain when the
things got rough enough to question the off road potential of our
trusty ride. Jason and I dismounted and set off on foot to find the
mine by the light of our lantern. We stumbled around in the dark for
a while and eventually found a hole in the side of the mountain
worthy of exploration. It matched Darrel's description, and more
importantly seemed to provide a warm camp on a very chilly night.
Jason was convinced that the Jeep
wouldn't make it even close to the mine, and was certain that he was
in no mood to haul a bunch of gear up the side of a mountain to set
up camp. We had seen a sign for a hot spring earlier in the day, and
it was growing more attractive by the minute as an alternative plan
for the night. After a brief discussion I hopped behind the wheel,
threw it in 4WD, and started picking my way up toward the mine. As
there was no where to turn around before the small plateau at the
mine entrance, I was committed to the course after just a few yards.
Jostling and churning up the mountain, the Jeep lived up to its
rugged reputation to deliver itself safely to its mountainside perch
for the evening, and started us on our course to a night as authentic
cavemen.
150 ft into the mine shaft and 50 feet
to the right we found a perfect camp site. A hollow spot in the
mountain supported by ancient beams with just enough room for a tent,
a fire, and a couple of camp chairs. Before long we had steaks on
the fire, the tent set up, and a bottle of New Mexican Merlot half
way emptied. The rest of the evening disappeared into the jug of
table wine in a haze of campfire smoke.
Monday's hangover was somewhat brutal,
and I blame it all on the campfire. We broke camp, tumbled down the
mountain, and headed West toward Arizona. It was time to make some
miles, so of course we got a flat before we even made it out of town.
The guys at the garage informed me that
the grinding sound coming from my brakes was a disaster waiting to
happen. We added new pads to the tab and within an hour or so were
back on the road with our pockets $100 lighter. New Mexico was in no
mood to let us leave so easily. The wind that blew us across the
desert cut through me like a knife. By the time we reached Animas, I
couldn't take it anymore. We holed up in the Panther Tracks Grill
for an hour or so to thaw out. A dusty rancher who wandered in told
us that the thermometer at his barn had just climbed to 18 degrees.
We knew that it was cold, but 18? That's just not fair.
