Nikki

This was a trip from Massachusetts to visit my daughter, who goes to school in Denver. I would fly to Denver Thursday, May 10. I would spend the first two nights in Denver. We planned to drive to Santa Fe for two nights and to Taos for one night. Finding a hotel in Denver was a challenge; every room in Cherry Creek, my daughter’s neighborhood, was filled. I did find a room at a place with such bad reviews on Tripadvisor that I considered staying at my daughter’s apartment instead, although since she and her roommate had acquired a kitten, I feared for my allergies. Then, with the generous assistance of a poster on Fodor’s, I located a room at the Hampton Inn & Suites, Denver-Cherry Creek. Canceled the reservation at the no-tell motel and was set to go.

Getting to the airport in Boston, I hit the perfect storm of annoying delays. First I left my boarding pass on the dining room table, which I discovered shortly after leaving the house. Lost ten minutes that way. Discovered my gas tank was surprisingly low, stopped for gas. Then there was an accident on the highway and traffic was at a standstill. I got off and took local roads past the accident site, keeping my fingers crossed that I was going the right way even though it started looking pretty unfamiliar. I was. Got back on the highway and was now so late that I hit rush hour in Boston. And as I pulled into the parking lot I use near the airport an hour before my flight, the shuttle van pulled out and the attendant told me there was only one van, I’d have to wait fifteen minutes.

Half an hour later a driver appeared, said there were two vans, had been available all the time, the dispatcher just didn’t bother letting him know I was waiting. Ugh. Got to the terminal breathless, discovered the plane was delayed by fifteen minutes. Whew. Stood in line at security behind two classes of ten year old boys. Ducked into a newsstand on the way to the gate to buy water. Arrived at the gate three and a half hours after leaving my house (usually takes an hour and a half). Walked onto the plane and searched for a place to stow my bag. Only one place available, at the back of the plane. Collapsed on my seat.

My daughter met me at the airport and I checked in to the hotel, went out to a late dinner at the Cherry Creek Grill. I was just grateful I wasn’t still in Boston. Weather in Denver was beautiful and we spent Friday morning at a park soaking up sunshine and watching children at a playground. My daughter was busy at school all afternoon and I took it easy, then we had dinner at a Brazilian barbecue restaurant, Texas de Brazil.

Saturday morning we head South on Interstate 25. Shortly after leaving the Denver area, we see Pike’s Peak dominating the view to the West, gleaming white in the sun. Passing Colorado Springs, I can’t help but notice a large landfill. Ever since my husband taught me to recognize the distinctive shape of these former dumps, I see them everywhere. On this trip I remember noticing them near the Denver Airport, in Colorado Springs, Pueblo, and smaller towns along the way. Although as the countryside becomes dotted with hills and mesas farther south, it becomes a little more difficult to pick them out.

There are more picturesque sights as well. For a good part of the drive, the highway is paralleled to the west by a railroad track. And the sight of a train against the backdrop of the mountains makes me think of an elaborate model train layout. The mountains are outlined and mimicked by mountains of clouds above them, exaggerating the form of the peaks and valleys puffing up toward the sky. Reminded me of Cape Cod, where you can sometimes look up and see the entire outline of the Cape mimicked in clouds. Caused, I imagine, by a similar effect of air condensing as it hits the land surrounded by water, or the mountains surrounded by plains.

We see another train, this time to the east, entirely filled with coal. As we drive through Pueblo, we pass a billboard for Rocky Mountain Steel, and then the steel mill itself. This would explain the train load of coal, I suppose, although I have to wait until I come back home to google and validate my theory that coal is used to make steel. I grew up in New York, what do I know?

As we drive farther south in Colorado, I am reminded in an unlikely fashion once again of Cape Cod. The green ground, dotted with clumps of purple wildflowers and broken up with meandering ruts of exposed earth gets me thinking of the salt marsh with its sea lavender and rivulets of mud. My daughter thinks I am reaching for that one, but I find both landscapes appealing. Expanses of seemingly unbroken green carpet that are rougher and more complex up close than they appear from a distance.

As we approach the New Mexico border, we come to the town of Trinidad. A sign says, “Trinidad- We’ve Saved the Best for Last”. I wonder whether there is a sign in the other direction: “Trinidad- We’re First”. I’ll never know. We wonder why there is a town here. But signs for the Santa Fe Trail hint at the answer. Home again, with the awesome power of the internet, I learn that the Santa Fe Trail did indeed pass here and that the Atcheson, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad came to Trinidad in 1878.

The interstate starts climbing south of Trinidad. My daughter’s Jeep is struggling to keep up to speed. Signs say, “Bicycles next 5 miles.” We don’t see any, but we can’t help but wonder where they’d be coming from. We arrive at the top of Raton Pass in greater comfort than the travelers on the Santa Fe trail, and in less time. The view down the other side reveals a completely different landscape than the one through which we’ve been driving. Less green, more yellow. Flatter.

At the top of the pass, we enter New Mexico. This seems like a good natural boundary between the two states until I think about it some more. The border between Colorado and New Mexico is a straight line stretching for hundreds of miles into Utah on the west and Kansas on the east. Could the state line at the very top of this mountain pass be a coincidence? Or was this pass used to determine the position of the boundary? Inquiring minds want to know.

As soon as we enter New Mexico, we see signs for elk crossing, five miles. Bicycles in Colorado, elk in New Mexico. Do they each turn around at the border? Then we see a sign boasting an unlikely number of service stations, restaurants and hotels in five miles. We figure they must be down at the bottom of the pass; there’s certainly nothing up here. And indeed, down at the bottom of the pass there is a commercial strip filled with places to stop. As we pass them by, I start thinking about stopping for lunch and gas. I figure we’ll stop at the next place. Big mistake number one.

A few miles later, we pass an exit with a sign for a gas station, but no food. We pass on by. Big mistake number two.

We pass a whole lot of nothing after that. We’ve driven about forty miles since the last food and gas in Raton. We start figuring out how much gas is left. My daughter figures we can go another forty miles. The next exit with a cross street, according to the map, is 27 miles away. In Wagon Mound. We’re hoping for a gas station. Even if there isn’t one, we’re getting off at Wagon Mound because the next exit is 42 miles farther, in Watrous.

We get excited when we see signs for a restaurant and then a gas station, and indeed when we get off at Wagon Mound we have a choice of two gas stations. The restaurant sadly is closed. We talk to a guy who is there with his family; they have a trailer full of horses. He lives in southern New Mexico, so I say he must be used to these long highway stretches with no gas. He says this particular bit of highway is famous for having a long ride between gas stations. So now we know.

We press on toward Las Vegas, New Mexico. Figure we can tell everyone we went on a road trip to Vegas. Girls gone wild. We get off the interstate and find a place for lunch: Johnny’s Kitchen. Here we have our first taste of northern New Mexico cooking: carnitas with green chile, beans, papitas, rice and sopapilla, which turns out to be warm fried dough onto which we drip honey. High on the wall hangs a cow’s skull with the handwritten sign, “Our First Side of Beef”.

The restaurant is just across the street from a low stone building with bars on the windows. The sign says Rough Riders Museum. Unfortunately it is closed. On the way out of town we pass the dump.

Leaving Las Vegas, we skirt the southern edge of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, then turn northwest toward Santa Fe. We see rain falling at the top of the mountain ahead, then lightning bolts. Although it looks for a while as though we are heading straight into the storm, the road turns and we are heading toward sunlight again.

We are staying at the Hotel Santa Fe, near Guadalupe Street in Santa Fe. We have a junior suite, which is very attractive with a living area containing a sleep sofa and balcony. My only complaint is that there is no door between the bedroom and the living area, removing the advantage a suite gives of allowing one person to watch TV or listen to music without disturbing the person in the other room.

After taking a short rest after the long drive, we take the free hotel shuttle service to the plaza. This is a great amenity for this hotel. The shuttle is available on request to take guests wherever they are going and to pick them up again with a phone call. No issue of parking downtown and no need to call a taxi.

As we approach the plaza, my overwhelming impression is that since my last visit to Santa Fe thirty years ago, it has become gentrified beyond reason. The streets are lined with upscale jewelry, clothing and gift stores. Large buildings have been turned into mini-malls of such stores. We walk across the plaza to the Palace of the Governors, where there are still Native Americans selling jewelry from blankets on the ground. It is late in the afternoon and some of them are starting to pack up.

We buy some jewelry from the artists there. At our last stop, I see a pendant and I ask the artist how much it is. He looks at me for a while before he says anything. “Sizing me up?” I ask. “Figuring out how much to charge me?” “Yes,” he agrees, and he comes out with a price. I ask about another piece and he makes up another price. He tells me about the gauge of the silver, the thickness of the turquoise, the significance of the lizard. “When I was a kid I used to cut the tails off lizards,” he tells me and laughs. I tell him I’ve heard that torturing animals is frequently in the background of mass murderers. “They grow back though,” he reassures me. “The lizard is a sign of water.” Then he tells us something about tiny toads falling in the rain, and we are not sure whether they are literal or metaphorical toads. But I buy the pendant. I won’t see another one like it.

There is a bunch of loud and probably drunk young people sitting in the middle of the plaza singing and playing guitars. The Indians under the arcades are greatly amused, laughing and shaking their heads. A policewoman comes and quiets the musicians down after their dog gets in a fight with another dog being walked by a visitor.

We are headed for the Ore House. I have read on Fodors about their margaritas and charred tomato salsa, and it seems to be just the right time of day for that. We are seated on the balcony overlooking the plaza. A guitar player is finishing his set. My daughter orders a “horny toad”. The salsa is really good, has a charcoal taste and is just spicy enough to get the lips tingling.

We leave just as another musician arrives and starts setting up. Oh well. We browse in a couple of stores that are still open, then call the shuttle from the hotel. The driver picks us up and drops us off at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame for dinner. We both order barbecue, and the best thing on my sampler platter is the chicken. There is a band starting at 9 PM, so we wait and listen to them for a while before ordering dessert. I really enjoy the molten chocolate cake and my daughter tries the ice cream baked potato. Walking down Guadalupe Street as we leave the restaurant, we pass a lively bar with a blues band but decide the day has been long enough and go back to the hotel.

GJLinda

Hi Nikki,

Just wanted to let others know that Denver to SAnta Fe is about 380 miles, all of it on interstate highway. Normally would take 61/2-7 hours including meal and gas stops. Hope you enjoyed the trip.

LK

Nikki

Sunday morning we head out toward Bandelier National Monument. We pass the Camel Rock Casino, admiring the rock formation across the highway which does resemble a camel. The drive is through beautiful countryside which crosses the Rio Grande, climbs to dramatic views over the cliffs, and descends into Frijoles Canyon. Along the route we pass the entrance to several “tech stations” of the Los Alamos National Laboratory, gated and a little intimidating. We do not go to Los Alamos or the museum there, and I am guessing that the museum explains some of the things that are done at these “tech stations” in such a way as to allay the concerns of the casual passerby.

Bandelier National Monument covers a large area containing seventy miles of trails, but there is only one road three miles long that leads to the visitor center, built during the depression by the Civilian Conservation Corps. From there we walk along the main trail to see the cliff dwellings and remains of ancestral pueblo dwellings on the canyon floor. It is a gorgeous day and the air smells of mountains and sage and pine. There is a stream running through the canyon, which attracted the early settlers and is a welcome sight and sound on this warm day. The cliffs are made of ash from the eruption of an enormous volcano fourteen miles away. The cliff dwellings are carved into this material.

We head back toward Santa Fe, expecting to stop for lunch somewhere along the way. We had passed a town near the park entrance, White Rock, but on closer examination this appears to be a peculiarly empty town, with many vacant storefronts, so not all of the inactivity can be attributed to it being a Sunday. We enter the San Ildefonso reservation and see a gas station with a convenience store and Taco Bell. We go in and ask the cashier if there is anywhere nearby to get lunch. He says that other than the Taco Bell, there is a Subway shop some miles down the road. Or the casino at Pojoaque Pueblo, which has a buffet. We get the idea that these are the only places to eat within twenty miles, so we stay at Taco Bell, which just seems downright silly.

That afternoon, back in Santa Fe, we drive to Canyon Road. I remember this from thirty years ago as a place with funky artists’ studios and a bar where we drank out of mason jars. I have a couple of pottery wine glasses we bought there. Times have changed. The studios have become galleries. Most are closed this Sunday afternoon, so we drive out to the end of Canyon Road, enjoying the tour of some lovely residential areas.

For dinner we have reservations at Santacafe, a lovely restaurant near the plaza. It is Mother's Day, so we splurge on a nice meal. The shitake mushroom and cactus spring rolls with dipping sauce are very nice, and I have a wonderful steak made from some beef identified by the ranch it came from, accompanied by mashed potatoes with green chiles. We split a warm chocolate cake.

The night is young, and we go to the blues bar we passed the night before. But there appears to be only one customer. There is a guy with a guitar playing and singing to the empty house, and a drunk woman outside is on her cell phone trying to convince someone to come meet her there. We get back in the car and go back to the hotel.

The whole time we are in Santa Fe, we are confused trying to find our hotel. It is at the intersection of three major roads, and we always seem to be coming from the wrong direction to get into the driveway. The confusion is amplified by the fact that our hotel looks like every other building in the area. Every single building is the same color and the same general style. But we do find the hotel every time we need to, and we go back there for the night.

Nikki

We start Monday morning with breakfast burritos at the hotel restaurant. In New Mexico, apparently even breakfast comes with green or red chile. When I can’t decide, the waitress says she could bring a little of each. I have read in a guidebook that if you want both red and green, you can ask for Christmas. I’m too self conscious to say that, but the waitress brings a huge burrito filled with eggs, sausage, bacon, potatoes, cheese and I don’t know what else, all chopped up together and covered on one side with green chile and on the other with red. Evidently some places make the green chile hotter and some make the red chile hotter, so you have to ask which is which.

Our plan today is to take the high road to Taos. We drive to Chimayo, where we visit the Santuario de Chimayo, a church built on the site of sand that is said to have miraculous healing powers. There is a service in progress, which we watch respectfully in this beautiful old adobe chapel. People come here on pilgrimages and I read that there can be 20,000 visitors on Good Friday. Today, though, there are just a few people.

We drive on to the village of Truchas, clinging to the side of a cliff. There is rusted metal by the side of the road at the entrance to town. I think of my husband, and road trips through Maine thirty years ago. We spot the General Store and go to buy drinks. At first we think it is closed, but there is someone inside who says it is open and we enter. The General Store is generally empty and generally dark. There are no lights. There is a refrigerator case with a few drinks. There are two bottles of water, and I take them both. But nothing is cold; there is no power. At the cash register there is a hand printed sign: “No credit, no way, don’t ask.” I hand the cashier my two bottles of water and say, “Credit?” I can’t help myself, it’s a curse.

We miss the turnoff toward Taos and continue down the road, passing many old houses containing artists’ studios, then the entrance to some ranches. When the road turns to dirt, we backtrack and miss the turnoff again. After making a U turn in the street we are stopped by a car driving in the other direction. My daughter recognizes it as the car that was following a dog into a driveway down the road. The driver asks where we are going and offers to give us directions. We’re good now, so we don’t need them, but he is eager to help and we listen.

We drive on through large stretches of national forest land. Then we reach the outskirts of Taos. It is a shock to come to the long commercial strip leading into Taos. We pass a motel that boasts, “Cleanest rooms, $49.” How much for the less clean rooms, I wonder. Our hotel, El Pueblo Lodge, is past the center of town. This is a basic motel with some nice touches. Our room was recently renovated (there are different prices for the renovated and non-renovated rooms). It is quite large and there is a patio outside with chairs. The grounds are pleasant with a lawn and trees, welcome in this dry area, and there is a nice area outside to eat the complimentary continental breakfast.

After checking in, we leave our bags and drive down the short road to Taos Pueblo.

Nikki

Taos Pueblo is fascinating. We park, pay admission, and pay for photography permits for each camera. The buildings are all the square adobe style which is imitated by the modern buildings in town and in Santa Fe. They are piled up on top of each other like condominium complexes and are all individually owned by members of the pueblo. We see children with backpacks coming home after school. I think it would be a little odd living here, like living in Plimoth Plantation or Old Sturbridge Village, a living history museum. Behind the houses are round ovens for bread.

A few of the buildings contain shops. We go into a potter’s shop and admire the mica-flaked pottery. Before firing it, the potter tells us he makes marks with horsehair and polishes it with a stone. He is working on a clay flute. It isn’t playing quite right. He says if he can’t get it to sound right he will throw it across the room. I wonder whether there is a corner somewhere filled with broken pottery bits.

There is a river running through the pueblo and a dog walks across the footbridge, followed by two puppies. The puppies are pestering her for a drink, so she stops and they nestle up to her briefly before they go on.

We stop in the shop of an artist who works with feathers. He makes feather fans, which are hung in the house to protect it and to bring good luck to the people inside. He tells us that his grandfather taught him to work with feathers, and his great grandfather taught his grandfather. He shows us a large, elaborate fan that he says his grandfather made and gave him at birth, which he always keeps with him.

He makes arrow shafts, and tells us that he still hunts. I ask whether he retrieves the arrows to reuse them and he says he can never find them. They go clear through the animal after it is hit. He says he asked his father why he couldn’t ever find the arrows, and his father told him the arrows go with the animal to the spirit world.

This feather artist is on his second career; the first was as a building contractor. He tells us that his last project was the casino along the road to Taos Pueblo. I have never spoken to a contractor quite like him before.

That evening we enjoy dinner at Orlando’s, a casual restaurant with Northern New Mexico cooking. After chips with salsa and guacamole, I try tamales with red chile. I keep thinking of the old weather forecast, chile today, hot tamale, so I have to have some. It turns out to be a dumpling type wrapper, filled with meat. It is hot, but the tortilla served with it is good for diluting the spiciness. There are three types of chile here, in increasing order of spiciness: red, green, and caribe. We both go for the red. My daughter has the blue corn shrimp enchiladas, which are very good.

After dinner we go to the movie theater on the strip south of town to see Spiderman. There are only about five other people in the theater. I can’t remember the last time I went to a movie, so this is a treat.

JulieR

Nikki...Great report so far! I am very interested because we are going to Santa Fe for 5 nights May 28. We are planning on doing about the same itinery as you. I am doing all the planning. My husband has no clue as to what to expect...or all the driving that I think we will have to do every day. But I am eagerly awaiting the trip. I have all my restaurants picked out and enjoyed your review of the SantaCafe as that is one of them, along with the Cowgirl. Can't wait to read more!

BetsyG

Nikki - great trip report, are you a writer?
Betsy

RachelleButternut

This is such an enjoyable trip report! And you sound like a traveller with whom I'd love to go exploring! Lucky daughter you have.

I'd love to read other travel tales you've penned!

Nikki

Thank you for the nice comments. Much of my writing these days is trip reports, I really enjoy them.

I have one day left to finish this one up. I'll try to finish today or tomorrow.

Rachelle, if you really are interested in my other reports (warning, very long!), here is a sampling:

Paris, 2005:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34574921

Paris, 2006:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34762455

Greece, 2005:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34589254

London and France, 2004:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34652273

Barcelona, 2007:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34955177

Spain and Portugal, 2006:

http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34841123

ElendilPickle

Great trip report, Nikki!

>>I have read in a guidebook that if you want both red and green, you can ask for Christmas. I’m too self conscious to say that<<

The locals really do say it; I usually prefer one or the other myself, but I've done Christmas once or twice.

Lee Ann

Nikki

Tuesday morning we head back toward Colorado. We fill the tank; we’ve learned our lesson. As we leave Taos, I realize that we have been in two towns known for their art galleries and museums, but we have not been to any. Maybe next time.

Shortly after we leave Taos going north on route 522, the landscape changes abruptly and the trees and green ground give way to desert and brush. Signs of civilization are limited to the occasional dirt road headed toward the mountains to the east or a house or two to the west. We cross the border into Colorado shortly after the town of Costilla. A sign on the left says, “Vaya con dios.” A more secular sign on the right says, “Hasta la vista”.

When we get to Fort Garland, we turn right on US Highway 160 and travel alongside the Sangre de Cristo River. The road starts climbing toward La Veta Pass. In the valley, the aspen trees are covered with leaves. Halfway up the pass, the aspens are just beginning to leaf out. Higher up, they have no leaves at all. There are patches of snow on the north facing slopes to our right. As we reach the top of the pass we enter a cloud, but we are soon out of it as we head down into the plains.

There is a flagman stopping traffic. We sit in a line of cars for ten minutes while the invisible DJ inside my daughter’s iPod plays, “Stuck in the middle with you.” We admire the scenery. The iPod plays, “Big rock candy mountain,” the adult version. And as it starts to cloud up after our five days of perfect weather, we hear James Taylor singing, “I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain.” We hope for neither, and we drive into the town of Walsenburg looking for lunch.

We find it at the Alpine Rose Café on Main Street, where the vinyl seating transports us back to 1962. We enjoy this last taste of local color before returning to the Interstate. Back on the highway, we head north, see the steel mills of Pueblo rising in the distance. As we approach Colorado Springs, we notice that Pike’s Peak isn’t visible today, covered in clouds.

We have plenty of gas and plenty of time as we hit traffic coming into Denver. The six lanes of highway in each direction and the new light rail have not prevented us from having to slow to stop-and-go as we pass the Denver Tech Center and turn toward the airport. But we still get to the airport too soon. We say good-bye and I head for my flight while my daughter heads to her yoga class. It’s been a great trip.

Nikki

Thanks, Lee Ann. So nobody giggles when you ask for Christmas with your breakfast burrito? I would still have trouble with it, I think.

LarryT

Hi Nikki, Love the report but am a bit disappointed that you did not climb the ladders up to the Ceremonial Cave in Bandelier. Note: The 'dump' you saw passing Colorado Springs is probably the old sand/gravel mine (open pit) up on the Front Range mountain side. It sure is an eyesore but is closed and we all are working each year to replant with tree seedlings. One day it will blend back in as it should. Sorry you did not have time to drive up/down Pikes Peak. Is an experience not to be missed. Of course, the upper portions could have been closed due to avalanche danger since the weather has warmed. Keep up the trips so we all can hear about them.

Nikki

Larry- Ceremonial cave? Looking at the map of Bandelier, and I'm not seeing it. But I have no knees, so my climbing days are over, and my daughter is afraid of heights, so we wouldn't have made it anyway.

My dump memory is getting hazy and it's only been a week, but I am thinking there were actually two spots in Colorado Springs, one west of the road that must be the open pit mine, and one (farther south?) east of the road. There must be an old landfill somewhere, mustn't there?

You have me thinking about driving up Pike's Peak if I make it out to visit again before my daughter finishes school. So many great things to explore out there. I was sad when she went to grad school so far away from home, but it is giving me an opportunity to take these wonderful trips.

BeachGirl247

I'm so glad your trip turned out so well! I had to laugh at your comment on the gas tank -- we learned the hard way as well!! Just so everyone here knows, there is <i>nothing</i>, repeat <i>nothing</i> in Glen Rio, NM.

You did quite a bit. I think you could do something from morning 'til night and still not do everything that there is to see and do. I find that I need to just be still and take in the place I'm visiting.

I know the bar in Santa Fe you were talking about -- Willi's , I believe. It was hoppin' on Friday night. And the chiles! My reason for living (just kidding, well kind of). The chiles are either hot or they're not -- has nothing to do with the chef, only how the growing season affected them. And don't be shy about &quot;Christmas&quot;. Its used all the time.

Just got home last night after a week in Santa Fe. Missing my green chile breakfast today.

Glad you had a great trip with your daughter!

Joanel

Any issues with the high altitude?

Nikki

Beachgirl, yup, Willi's was the place. Sorry we missed the lively night, it looked like fun and the band sounded great.

Joanel, I think I was huffing and puffing a little more than usual, but no major problems with the altitude.

Nikki

I've posted some pictures from the trip here:

http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=...0&amp;y=py4f8d

ElendilPickle

&gt;&gt;So nobody giggles when you ask for Christmas with your breakfast burrito? I would still have trouble with it, I think.&lt;&lt;

Nope! In fact, &quot;Christmas&quot; is now the Official State Answer to the Official State Question - &quot;Red or green?&quot;

Lee Ann

jbee

Nikki,

My parents live in Denver and I went to school in Las Vegas, NM so I'm very familiar with your drive!

I actually met my husband in Las Vegas - my brother in law's family owns Johnny's Kitchen. How's that for a coincidence?