Day Thirty-Five: Chama - Taos

It seemed as if everyone and anyone in Chama was looking to chat with us that morning. An older Floridian couple approached us while we snarfed down multiple packets of strawberry oatmeal, and by the end of the conversation, they invited us to their home on the swamp, for a stay full of pontoon rides and alligators (pretty tempting). We talked to a few other families as well, then pushed our bikes out of the campsite and toward the grocery store. Our snack stash that day was better than usual: fresh fruit, packaged lunch meat, apple chips, etc. You can’t get that from a gas station, let me tell ya’.

Now, we had heard from multiple people that we had “some hills to climb” (this is a very common phrase in our day-to-day lives), but we started out on our ride with absolutely no idea what we were in for. Never once did anyone mention a mountain, nor did our Wal-Mart atlas show any extreme elevation gain, but nevertheless, we were in for one of our toughest climbs yet. The day started with us being smoked out by a monstrous diesel truck, which we appreciated oh-so much (sarcasm), then continued with the road from hell. It was lush with greenery and quite beautiful, or so we thought, until the windy uphill got the best of us and it started looking quite ugly since we were so pissed off. At one point, when we were on the first few miles of our climb, a pickup passed by slowly, with two men cheering loudly and waving their arms out the windows. We love that kind of encouragement, but generally it is a tell-tale sign that we are about to climb a mountain—as if our cheerleaders are hollering for us simply because we are insane.

As it turns out, that was exactly why they were cheering. Nearly ten miles of rough roads and steep climbs later, we had reached the summit. We stopped for lunch, then rolled a little further up the road to a viewpoint where we were greeted by the two guys once again, this time cheering from their fold-up lawn chairs at the edge of a stunning vista. We pulled up towards them and they dropped their jaws in awe, yelling, “I can’t believe you just did that! You guys are my heroes!” This was an exaggeration to say the least, after all, it took us hours—but we were flattered nonetheless. They handed us ice cold Coors Banquet beers and introduced themselves as Mike and Matt, two long-time college buddies who have traveled all over the country. Mike’s dog, Rocket, was a Great Dane and Labrador mix who stood his ground in protection of his owner, but was too damn cute to be intimidating. They were big fans of our trip and eager to share all they knew about the area, including the troublesome route we had ahead of us. The four of us hung out for about an hour, putting off the inevitable, and sharing jokes and stories while downing every ounce of cold beverage we could get our hands on, then we rode down the mountain, wishing we could spend more time with our new buds.

It wasn’t downhill for long, and actually, turned into quite a climb once more. We attempted to carry on, but that didn’t last long, and eventually we found ourselves waving down a truck, for we would never make it to Taos by nightfall if we were to ride there. It took nearly 30 minutes to catch a passing car since the road was barely traveled, but luckily, we found the right guy. Toby, a burly, quiet guy, was on a short road trip with his parents for Father’s Day, and we could tell he was a bit hesitant to pick up hitchhikers (rightfully so), but he was clearly concerned for our safety on the road, so he opened up his tailgate and let us jump in the cab. We drove down the road while making small talk, as Slater and I were ready to fall asleep any minute with the gentle rocking of a spacious truck. We reached a rest stop where Toby dropped us off, insisting that we didn’t want to miss the view.

And ooooohhhh, was he right. We had arrived at the Rio Grande Gorge, where a narrow bridge straddled thousand-foot cliffs, with sheer drop-offs and a gushing river flowing beneath. We were a bit alarmed to see “Crisis Hotline” boxes at numerous viewpoints on the bridge, where a small telephone hung anxiously for the call of desperate jumpers at their wit’s end. That thought alone allowed us to carry on, having seen enough, to a gas station five miles down the road. A friendly man gassing up his truck told us of a quirky hostel where we could stay, and we were ecstatic with the idea of staying not in a tent, nor in an overpriced motel, but in a friendly environment with a cozy atmosphere. The Snow Mansion was the name, and it was just outside of Taos in a small town called Arroyo Seco, which was really more like a village that was located near the renowned Taos Ski Valley. (Side note: in case anyone has been paying attention to the national news, it was right by the section of the river where the White House Chef drowned—and we saw the chopper. Lovely.) Arroyo Seco had a pueblo-type feel with adobe houses, small, narrow streets, and tiny local storefronts with itty-bitty gardens. The hostel was dim-lit and smelled musty—but a good type of musty, I’m not sure how to describe that. The woman at the front was odd, somewhat bitter, or jaded, maybe, and unsupportive of our excitement about the unique town. Despite that, she checked us into our communal dorm rooms, men’s for Slater, women’s for me, and told us to grab dinner quickly, since nearly all of the restaurants would close at an early hour on Sundays.

Just a few minutes before 8 o’clock, we wandered across the tiny road to Aceq, a comfort food restaurant with a southwestern vibe. We weren’t up for a fried chicken and mashed potatoes gut-busting meal, so we opted for appetizers, which might have been even worse in terms of calories: a small salad to start, fried cheese curds to clog our arteries, chicken wings to set our mouths on fire, and finally, a mixed berry shortcake with mint syrup just to make sure we didn’t starve. We’d had our fill for the night, so we dragged ourselves back to the hostel, spent time lounging in the common room with a whole troop of boy scouts, showered, and slept in separate rooms for the first time of the entire trip.