Not what we usually think of as New Mexico architecture

I have seen the future

The translation of El Porvenir is the future. It's on the eastern side of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, in the Gallinas Valley, about sixteen miles northwest of Las Vegas, New Mexico. Hermit Peak (part of which you can see in the photo below) provides background drama and a destination for hikers.

Unfortunately, you can’t see the peak from El Porvenir Campground, which is in a forested canyon. Can’t see the mountain for the trees. But it’s still a pleasant place.

I got a couple of miles of hiking in before the sky clouded over and the rain began. Because of the lower elevation and being on the eastern slope, there's a greater variety of coniferous and deciduous trees.

As I was spending the drizzly weather reading, I was startled a loud bonk against the Rolling Steel Tent. At first I thought it had been hit by an errant ball or Frisbee. Nope. Just a pinecone about the size of an orange. It happened again during the night as I was drifting off to sleep. Conifers like to harass me. At least they didn't drop a big limb on me. There are advantages to camping in the treeless desert.

Heaven

I’m not a religious person, but since I was headed into the Sangre de Cristo (Blood of Christ) Mountains, I figured I might as well keep with the theme and go to Holy Ghost Campground.

Highway 63 follows the Pecos River up toward its headwaters. At the village of Tererro one turns onto the road to Holy Ghost. It’s paved but mostly one lane, occasionally a lane and a quarter, with no real turnouts. The people who live along the road (if only seasonally) cope somehow. I had my fingers crossed, hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone coming the other way. Maybe I was supposed to be praying. But my heathen self arrived with no difficulty.

It’s a very pretty area. The white bark and light leaves of aspens contrast against dark pines. There are some grassy slopes and wildflowers. And a stream, of course. It’s the mountains, baby.

Earlier, as I driving past Santa Fe and could see the Sangre de Cristos ahead, the sky was clear. What a beautiful morning. It surprises me how quickly clouds can form, even though I’ve witnessed it many times. Air conditions change just a little and, whoosh, clouds. Thunderheads. I had checked the forecast and knew it was coming. I’d hoped the forecast was wrong. No.

Holy Ghost Creek

The sky opened at about noon. The good thing about thunderstorms is that they don’t last all day or all week like some storm fronts. They dump and run. Fifteen minutes, tops. But this cloudburst went on for three hours. And included hail. I curled up in bed, nice and dry. I felt sorry for the tent campers, though. They could huddle in their cars, but chances were they had water running through their tents and everything in them. A baptism perhaps? At any rate, I wasn’t struck by lightning for being a faithless, and occasionally blasphemous, sinner.

The rain eventually stopped and a patch of sky cleared. (Is that the face of God up there, or just the sun?) I opened up the Rolling Steel Tent to let in some fresh air. But that was brief. The gray world returned with sporadic sprinklings. (Perhaps the Almighty wasn’t through with me yet.)

The clouds cleared off during the night, but the process will repeat today. I’m okay with that. My mind has adjusted to the situation. Rain is good, especially in the parched Southwest.

Epiphytes = not a desert

Adventures in convenience store cuisine

I had filled the gas tank and stepped into the store to grab some beverages and whatever else caught my eye. A huge burrito? Why not. Beats the trouble of making my own. I put it in the fridge to enjoy later (if enjoy wasn't too optimistic).

Today seemed as good a time as any to find out what I'd gotten myself into. I had to cut it in half to fit it in my RoadPro oven. (If I'm to use the oven, I have to remember to do it when there's still plenty of daylight to recharge the house batteries. The thing sucks power.)

It was warm a half hour later and I took my first taste. Hmmmm... not bad. I took another bite. Pretty good, in fact. And spicy in a nice, flavorful way. Certainly worth $4.39. If I ever see these again somewhere, I'll buy more.

Ruins, Frijoles Canyon

Mother may I?

I was brought up to always defer to authority, to never act without permission, to assume all things are forbidden unless expressly allowed. Fortunately, I broke out of that submissive training. Mostly. Some of it still sticks with me.

I’ve been living in the Rolling Steel Tent for almost three years, camping all over the West. More than a hundred different places so far just this year. But even though I know it’s fine and legal to camp on public land (within minimal rules), my inner groveling child still asks, “Is it okay to be here?” It’s like I want a ranger to come by and give me official permission. 

It’s the same with free campgrounds. Nothing’s ever free, right? Maybe I just didn’t see the pay station. I’m going to get rousted in the middle of the night.

Some nomads probably think I spend too much time in pay campgrounds. “Dude, you’re throwing your money away.” Could be, but sometimes it’s worth it to not have that permission-seeking kid fretting all night.

What's for dinner?

And for breakfast, and lunch and snacks...

New Mexicans love their chiles and chile dishes, and debate the virtues of green and red chiles. If you don't like chiles, they deport you to Maine.

A lot of driving and thinking

With the Memorial Day crowds mostly back in their homes, I left Elephant Butte Lake State Park and drove to Water Canyon, near Magdalena, New Mexico. The Forest Service campground there is free. Can't beat that. I was the only one there when I arrived. Two couples arrived later, struggled with their tents, then settled in for the night. Nice and quite. But, I don't know, there was no compelling reason to stay another day. So I took off shortly after dawn and drove west on US60.

That took me past the Very Large Array (again). And through Pie Town. It was too early for pie, so I checked out Jackson Park Campground. Mmmmaybe I'd stay some other time. I moved on.

I'd researched some campgrounds at Quemado Lake. I bought gas and provisions in Quemado and turned south. Fourteen miles later I made the turn to the lake. And to road resurfacing. Resurfacing is good, I told myself as I waited for the pilot car (truck, actually) to lead us down the wrong side of the road.

There are three campgrounds at Quemado Lake. Juniper is close to the water, Piñon is up a hill and across the road, and Caso 1, 2 and 3 are farther up the canyon, away from the lake. That's why they're free instead of $10/night. After driving back and forth through the Caso campgrounds, I chose the farthest one, partly because it got sunlight, but mostly to be by myself.

Five hours later I realized I didn't really want to be there. I didn't know why. It was Water Canyon all over again. Nice, but not nice enough to stay. I could tough it out until morning, or I could go. But where to?

That's how I ended up in a hotel room in Albuquerque. I have about twelve hours to figure out where I really want to be. Or at least where I think I want to be.

Dust to dust

It  got windy this afternoon, blowing sand down from the dunes, across the beach, through the remainder of holiday weekenders and into the reservoir. Time to go home, folks. And don't just leave your wind-mangled easy-ups on the beach. There are big dumpsters on your way out.

The sun comes up like thunder

I was in a semi-awake state, trying to decide whether to get up or roll over and enjoy a few more days hours minutes of glorious sleep, when, surprise, there was a huge boom of thunder. I got up to check out what was going on and to see whether I needed to close up the Rolling Steel Tent. (The driver side window was half open and the side door was open a few inches for the purpose of ventilation. I love it when the nights are warm enough to do that.) If the thunder hadn't brought me out of my delicious stupor I would have missed this dramatic sky.

Sometimes I go crazy

Oh, sure, in my previous blog post I hoped that the campground wouldn't get overrun with Memorial Day weekenders. Ew, people! So what do I do? I leave the still roomy campground in the mountains and go to Elephant Butte Lake State Park. Along with nearly everyone else in New Mexico.

A fraction of the mob camped along the shore

Awk, so many people! And their stuff! Boats. Personal watercraft. OHVs. Diesel 4x4s. Duce-and-a-Half trucks. Generators. Neurotic, untrained, yapping dogs. Music. Squealing, happy kids. People having a good time. EEEEWWWWW!!! 

But it's okay. My introversion needs the occasional break from solitude. I can be around people as long as I'm not surrounded by them. I have a spot to myself, back away from the shore. Besides, I need my water fix. Even if the water is filled with people zooming around for the sake of zooming around. Oh, and blissfully happy Labs and Retrievers.

Into the woods

The last time I checked in I was in far southeastern Utah, in the land of rocks and dust and wind. Now, here I am almost smack in the middle of New Mexico. That's a bit of driving.

Except for a strip of highway during my southeast Arizona journey, and a quick stand at Four Corners, I haven't been in New Mexico since November of 2014. I missed the place.

So, here I am at Red Canyon Campground near Manzano. I had planned on staying at Manzano Mountains State Park again, but too much of the small campground was reserved. I didn't want to be among a bunch of weekenders. Red Canyon isn't as fancy (no shelters, for example) but it's very nice in that basic old-school Forest Service way. The trick was finding a spot among the trees that would make my solar panel happy for at least part of the day.

Now my fingers are crossed that this campground won't fill up with weekenders who couldn't get into the other place.

The long and short of it

Up until sometime last year, it seems, one-gallon water and milk jugs came in one universal dimension. I was happy with that. Then someone (I'm guessing Walmart) decided the shape needed to be changed. Taller and narrower so that more could fit on a shelf. A side benefit is that four of them fit more easily into a milk crate.

The down side of the taller-narrower jug (which seems ubiquitous now) is that it's more likely to tip over—as in always tipping over. The water jug powers that be assume people will only be driving from the store to their homes, where the jugs will sit quietly on shelves (taking up slightly less horizontal room, of course). People who drive around all the time with three to six poorly anchored gallons are just freaks.

The jugs eventually wear out or things start growing in them. I end up tossing them. I'm down to the last one of the old style. (My precious.) Unless I can find more of the old style I'll have to submit to the tyranny of the new style. I have space in the Rolling Steel Tent all worked out for the old style jugs. There's no room for a milk crate or something similar to hold my jugs. So I guess it's bungee cord time.

Perhaps there are greater life lessons in this situation. Don't get too attached to the way things are. Don't expect the future to identical to the present. Don't get all worked up over small inconveniences. You know, act like a grownup.

Small expedition

I study maps, looking for new places that are a little out of the way and perhaps worth the diversion. Places that might not be well known. Hmmmm, what's the deal with this spot?

Yesterday's mystery place was Muley Point, at the edge of Cedar Mesa, overlooking the meandering San Juan River gorge, with bits of Monument Valley in the distance. And dispersed camping. Sounds good. Sounds like it might worth the drive up the notorious Moki Dugway.

I had driven up Moki Dugway once before. It was a slightly anxious experience, but this time it was no big deal. The fact there was a lot of oncoming traffic the first time (including a huge beer truck) but none yesterday probably had something to do with my relaxed attitude. Driving down might be a different experience.

The road to Muley Point is supposedly impassible when wet. When dry (like yesterday) there's a one-to-three inch layer of orange dust/powder/sand until the road crosses into the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Then it's gravely. And white.

Before the actual point, there was a turnoff on the left. A mostly solid rock surface with evidence someone had camped there before. I checked it out.

An appealing thing about this spot was the lack of dirt. The day before, howling winds filled the air—and the Rolling Steel Tent—with dust. However, the wind was still nasty. And cold. But, hey, what a view!

I continued on to the actual Muley Point and, well, I wasn't the only one who studied maps for out of the way camping spots.

There was a Class C, a Class B, some tenters (I don't know what they managed to drive tent stakes into) and a couple in the back of a pickup. And some guy in van barging in on everyone.

But it's a dramatic location. Even more dramatic when the wind is blowing hard enough to make standing difficult. It would be a great place in the summer since it's at about 6,400 feet and therefore cooler than the valley below. But right now? Burrr.

Nice sombrero, dude

I'm camped today at the foot of the Mexican Hat. It's BLM land and there are several sites along a fairly decent unpaved road. And various desert wildflowers are in bloom.

I wonder why they called the formation and town Mexican Hat instead of Sombrero. Did the settlers not know the word? Or did they know it and refuse to use it? I knew a guy once (who was later convicted of defrauding his clients and was then run over and killed they day before he was supposed to report for prison) who insisted on saying little burro instead of burrito. Because it's 'Murica, dammit, where we speak English while we eat our Mexican food. Hmmm, what's English for karma?

View from the base of the Hat, after the cloud cover broke up