New Mexico Exploration

Work and Adventure Trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, February 24 - March 4 2020

The trials and spoils of a solo adventure in the pre-pandemic times

By Lenny Lucas

Hindsight is 20/20; 2020 was blindsiding. In hindsight, I should have taken a longer personal adventure excursion to my working trip to Santa Fe New Mexico in February-March of 2020 (“the before times”), but who was to know at the time what lay in the immediate future? This would be my first time in New Mexico and I was excited about all of the outdoor possibilities. Unfortunately, no traditional snow sports in the legendary town of Taos were on my agenda - too much logistics and gear. So instead, without much planning, I packed for backpacking during the five days of personal travel after four days of conference attendance, a loose idea of where I would go, and a meetup with one grad school friend in the Albuquerque area. Spoiler - I never went backpacking. Yet, a proper adventure precipitated.

Monday to Thursday - I struggled in Santa Fe’s 7,000+ foot elevation upon arrival. I’ve had similar acute mountain sickness (AMS) symptoms while sleeping above 11,000 feet in Colorado so I was fairly certain why I felt fatigued with a headache. I was also dehydrated from not drinking enough to preempt having to make the daunting pee journey from window seat to bathroom while on the plane. I tried to walk it off while exploring town, but Mondays are as weary there as I felt. Few open places to explore relegated me to dine at a local burger joint to work off the plane-hungries. Santa Fe is notorious for their chili peppers, so I imbibed their mastery of the pepper with scalding hot pepper fries that woke me up like a gut punch!

On Tuesday morning I beat the AMS symptoms and began my daily run-exploration of the city, going east towards green on the map and back. Between the early run and the copious amounts of free conference coffee, I felt like a hundred bucks each morning. I tried out the acclaimed Shed restaurant for lunch, enjoying the Beehive-like atmosphere, chili pepper ice cream for dessert, and spending the remaining free lunch period walking the city. The next few days at the conference would play out similarly - run-exploring in different cardinal directions, walking the city at lunch and filling free time with eating and relaxing. I enjoyed “before times” lunch and a few evening drinks with another attendee, Rachel, that I met during the conference. She did interesting data analytics work on historical diaspora and introduced me to dyslexia-friendly computer fonts. But most relevant to this story, she provided a local’s perspective on the best outdoor pursuits.

I started my personal adventure excursion on Thursday, running 4 miles at lunch to retrieve my rental car. After the conference wrapped up that evening, I headed straight to Meow Wolf, a local favorite interactive art/music/mystery institution, spending hours meandering the myriad of themed areas and exploratory “worlds”. I had a memorable sensory moment while sitting in an upright magic school bus. It awakened my senses - music so intense and euphoric that it heaved my chest; a screen playing vivid abstract colorful shapes wrapping around me; the combination of those creating a sensation of traveling through a kaleidoscope wormhole. The creative part of my soul felt full and content. The longness of the day caught up with me after a Walmart grocery stop in preparation for the adventure days ahead - the next few groggy hours were spent circling possible places to visit over the next few days, route finding, and downloading the area maps and information in preparation for no cell signal. Dinner that night was an afterthought, resulting in a gluttonous amount of ice cream, beer, and leftover pizza that I felt obligated to consume before leaving refrigeration behind the next morning.

Friday - The ironic anxiety of an open schedule, overwhelmingly many adventure options, and unfamiliarity with the area created a “paralysis by analysis” indecisiveness with where to go first. I lollygagged in the hotel until mid-morning before finally starting the drive. Based upon one of Rachel’s recommendations, I aimed for the Valles Caldera National Preserve, but upon passing Los Alamos, I got pleasantly sidetracked for the day.

I spied a trailhead for the “Tsankawi Prehistoric Sites” and just started hiking. The trail boasted lashed log ladders and access to typical carved-out rock dwellings of the indigenous peoples. The rock was so “soft” that the hiking trail worn in reminded me of ridiculously sized cross country skiing tracks, indicative of the ease of carving out rock dwellings. I continued driving toward the caldera, but again got sidetracked at the entrance of Bandelier National Monument. The drive in was interesting as you nearly drive on top of the rock dwellings that you access from the canyon below. I barely dodged falling rock ironically right after passing a caution sign for falling rock. I had time to hike the main loop and appreciate the history of these people and their patient labor to carve out so many rock dwellings. I thought, “this could be the first instance of apartment buildings”. I climbed the perilously long and steep lashed ladders to the “Alcove House”, a stunningly large amphitheater carved from the rock and was thought to act as a religious site. I finished off the hike with a jog downstream to Upper Frijoles falls where I enjoyed the calm of the canyon in solitude long enough to deem it a proper meditation session. I left the monument feeling at peace. The free campsite I aimed for in National Forest land was inaccessible via sedan, so I pitched a tent at the entrance as others had done and slept peacefully into the blue bird morning.

Saturday - What a beautiful, cold morning to reinvigorate the adventurous spirit! The wonderment from Friday was so fulfilling that it inspired self-confidence in my decision-making. I was ready to work through a little anxiety to yield precious life experiences. I continued the drive, gaining elevation towards the caldera and again got sidetracked to eat breakfast at a trailhead for the Cerro Grande trail. Several thousand feet of gain in a few miles seemed satisfying, so I began hiking. Following the trail was difficult since previous days’ tracks were covered by fresh strokes of windswept snow. Technology to the rescue! I followed the trail that was already installed on my Garmin watch. My pace up the nearly-bald mountain slowed considerably to observe an elk herd summit the peak towards the caldera, changing their course while they cautiously observed me. A park ranger later told me that those were the seasons’ first elk observed in the caldera - he credited me with herding them there! The pace turned glacial by postholing in a wandering fashion through deep snow at the peak. That additional effort to summit was fruitful - the peak afforded a vast, windy, gorgeous caldera view to the northwest. Crows hovered within feet of me directly overhead, carefully inspected me, then dropped one by one into the caldera. Cold from the sustained exposure, I quickly hiked back down, fulfilled once again, singing (terribly) aloud the entire way. I finally encountered other humans, a group of kids in snowshoes who would appreciate that footwear choice towards the peak.

I finished the short drive to the caldera, parked roadside, and talked with the excitable rangers extensively about the caldera’s history at their pop-up information stand (since there is no visitor center access during the winter season). I was so engaged with their high-powered telescope - viewing wildlife and features of the caldera - that I accidentally left my most cherished sentimental coffee mug in the roadside snow. After absorbing the caldera’s existence sufficiently, I drove a bit down-mountain to scope out the Los Conchas trailhead, where I saw climbers leading amazingly scenic multi-pitch routes - I’ll return someday to climb.

The rangers suggested heading further down-mountain towards Jemez Springs, to hike to the warm springs there, starting at the Steamboat Rock formation. The hike flung me out of view from Steamboat Rock immediately, casting me straight into the mid-desert woodlands. The trail was mellow and reenergizing in the considerably warmer clime, well below the caldera highlands. The warm springs were announced by the hoots and hollers of children at play. I spent several hours bathing in the multiple warm springs, having each pool to myself at some point as the parents had their fill and trickled away with their kids. Surprisingly, there were small fishes in two of the pools. If you remained still enough, the fishes would sucker the skin, exfoliating skin debris that had surely accumulated all over me in lodes over the past two days. I sipped a trail beer to celebrate this surreal mountain experience of my virgin warm springs dip. I remained absorbed in that enhanced sensory state on the return hike.

I drove down towards Jemez Springs proper, seeking a wild place to sleep. A final sidetrack led me to Soda Dam, a football field length worth of spring mineral accumulation that forms a natural dam and waterfall - a truly unique sight and - phew! - smell. I found a National Forest road, and just before losing hope of finding campable spaces as the road became nearly too chunky for the car, I stumbled into the parking area for a secluded campsite close to the road. I set up camp and enjoyed stargazing for a considerable time, enhanced by a single shooting star while jamming out to barely audible bluegrass tunes. It was a nearly perfect night of sleep despite that earlier beer needing to be let out at 2am and then again at 4am.

Sunday - 🎵🎵 The morning bird songs were a cacophonous natural alarm. I welcomed the morning with a slow stroll in the forest, packed up, and drifted down to Jemez Pueblo. I didn’t want to leave without appreciating more of the area’s history and understanding of the indigenous people. Perusing the museum that captured the natives’ history felt like a small way to honor this land and people. It served as a mellow segue to the shift in adventure activities.

I drove a few hours south through Albuquerque to the town of Socorro, destination: Box Canyon. I came prepared to this well-known climbing area with climbing shoes but no other gear, so I sought out low-consequence bouldering. Intimidated at first by the difficulty of the accessible routes, I eventually found some doable overhung traversing routes and a few top-out routes on an insular boulder that took me several tries to complete confidently - the proper finale to a bouldering session. I talked with a pleasant German couple about their adventures. They were driving to Argentina from Alaska in their RV-on-box truck rig. The collective mood soured by a loud and disrespectful family - the “adult” of the family feigned jumping off a cliff multiple times in front of their children. Preparing for an altercation or recovery effort, the others climbing the area huddled closer together until the family left. Through this, I met Andrea and Thomas, and their friend Will who invited me to their campfire when the family left. We talked about vanlife extensively and how they arrived at the lifestyle - the couple was on hiatus to grieve a friend’s death and Will was seeking time away from an undesirable work situation. We shared adventure stories around the fire with beers to lighten the mood. Thomas noted that the diffuse, pastel sunset earlier was the most memorable of their trip - I’m glad I took time to appreciate it. Will and I befriended each other talking about vanlife, climbing, and commiserate about disc golf as a “recovery sport” that ironically injured our shoulders in the same way. We really bonded over our love of running, so we planned to run nearby Chupadera Peak the next day per Andrea's suggestion. We drifted out of consistent conversation and dispersed to retire. I ended up pitching my tent on the lee side of boulder, a solid choice on a windy night.

Monday - Will was parting ways with his friends this morning, and I witnessed truly heartfelt goodbyes commensurate with the bond gained from weeks spent traveling together. It made me wonder if my goodbyes to good friends conveyed the same concern and emotion captured by these people. I thought, “how can I be more sincere during those interactions in the future?”. Will, his dog Juno, and I caravanned to Bosque del Apache to trail run Chupadera Peak. We had a nice slow conversational pace run through three vegetative zones - flat wash, rocky cactus-filled hillsides, and an open but bushy peak. We both enjoyed a trail beer at the peak and absorbed the views. It was a quintessential winter desert day as the sun beat down relentlessly on us, equilibrated by the cool desert winter air. I was rewarded for playing in the sunshine with an early March backwards-hat tan. Like the air during a desert day, Juno finally warmed up to me and by the end of the trail run, he played a very playful, dynamic trail obstacle as closely as he did with Will. We stretched rather aimlessly until hunger panged, then enjoyed the local must-have burger & beer combo at “The Owl” in “town”. Will and I gelled over being frugal, our thoughts on training, but notably differed on our use of Strava (me as a means to track my activity; Will for social interaction). I kept up with Will for some time after this, but like all long-distance friendships, they fade in favor of more local friendships.

We migrated to a free National Forest campsite in a vast wash just off an I-25 exit ramp, with over 4 hours of daylight to burn. We casually continued to stretch out from the run and made food and sipped beers. I tried my first La Croix and we just talked about life. I spent time repacking my things, realizing how meaningful it was for both of us to have someone to talk with, and have those discussions go deeper than the usual trail meeting platitudes. The night came quickly and was very windy, so I didn't sleep well. That made the 6am alarm seem an obstructionist to the needful purpose of vacation sleep. But we set it with intentions to catch the migratory snow geese takeoff at dawn down the road at Bosque del Apache, per Andrea’s suggestion.

Tuesday - Begrudgingly we rose at 6am, made quick breakfasts, and drove down I-25 to the bosque. 7:10am Lenny was indebted to 6am Lenny. We waited, practically unblinking, for nearly 20 minutes at the bosque while geese kept gathering, not privy to the scale of what we would be witness to. After several false starts, true to Andrea's description, they went from peckish and loud to freakishly calm. I interpreted the calm as the flock taking a collective breath before the long flight ahead. A few “intrepid” (Will's favorite word) geese led the flock into the air. They acted as a unit but with individual features, calls, and flight paths that you could briefly discern among the masses. I captured a wonderful video of the experience - the lead geese going stage right, transitioning to the building din of the back half of the flock going directly overhead. It was an unforgettable natural event that I vowed to seek out again. I’m a birder now?

Will and I said goodbyes and took off south for Gila National Forest, as I vectored back north to Albuquerque to visit my grad school friend and fellow athlete, Matt. I enjoyed listening to the XM comedy station and laughing heartily, a nice way to fill the void between human interactions. His house is conveniently adjacent to a sweeping network of foothills trails. After vacillating about how to organize his day because of my early arrival, he decided to do a quick trail run with me. It was supposed to be an easy run - we just kept getting faster - but it still gave us a chance to catch up between gasps. He expressed some stressful life situations, I empathized, allowing me to acknowledge my low-stress job and increasingly appreciative mode of living. He congratulated me on my "east-coaster" run performance at elevation - apparently it’s rare for low-elevation friends to keep up with him at the higher elevations of Albuquerque. He headed to work, and I headed to the Sandia tram to the higher elevations for some snowshoeing. Unfortunately, the tram was closed. Calling an audible, I found a trail on Hiking Project that led to the wreckage site of a TWA flight. With limited daylight, I started this hike further along that foothills trail network towards the peaks. I pushed the pace, snagging a Strava top ten performance on a trail section despite snow and ice! An elevation gain headache crescendoed, which sloughed off obediently upon descent. Being at the trail terminus amongst the wreckage made the history there feel more viscerally real than any other plane wreck incidents that I can only absorb through the news. Regardless of the novelty of a hike to decades-old plane wreckage, it was probably the worst hike to do before catching a flight the next morning. I spent a few minutes appreciating what was lost in that crash, then descended carefully on the increasingly icy sections to avoid eleventh hour injury.

I was incredibly fatigued towards the hike’s end and passed out in the car, woken up by the realization that I really needed to repack again for my morning flight as the sunset pinnacled. That forethought enabled me to spend the night catching up with Matt again when he returned from work. I met his spry, effusive daughter, Mae, who immediately latched onto me - we got too rambunctious running around the house, so we wound down by practicing reading together. Matt and I talked a bit more, but we both couldn't stay awake. I fell asleep feeling grateful for him welcoming me into his home and maintaining healthy bonds that endure.

I didn't sleep well, anxious about morning logistics and just being worn out from the last two days’ accumulation of fatigue. Despite that anxiety, everything went smoothly and I was relieved to be on my way home. I spent the time in the airport scribbling notes about the trip, which helped to write this and capture details I may have forgotten over time. This helped me to mentally cache gratefulness for the memorable experiences I afforded myself and was also privileged to have.

Epilogue - I meant to take a six month sabbatical from work this year. This trip acted as a mental launch ramp and reaffirmation of my intentions. However, the combination of the

1) utter effectiveness of this trip’s soul calming, and

2) poor sabbatical timing during the Covid-related uncertainties in travel that exceeded my solo traveling comfort threshold

ultimately led to scrapping the sabbatical. The need of a solo traveler for regular face-to-face interactions - as with friends scattered across the country and perfect strangers - would be limited, and personally not worth the effort at the time.

Note - If you want any GPS tracks or info about any of the places I visited, I’d be happy to share with you!