Road Trip v.2 (Part 12): Carlsbad and Texas, and What's Next

Is it just me or do those cavern walls
form a monster face?

I was a little sad to put Roswell behind me. It was unexpectedly the most cozy and comfortable place I had visited. Nobody could ever have guessed that Roswell of all places would be the homiest stop of all. Those aliens were on to something. Two hours away, Carlsbad Caverns would be the last stop on the trip. I arrived late enough in the morning that I couldn't take any of the guided tours through the caverns, which are slightly more expensive but seemed worth it for a more rigorous spelunking experience. Instead, I did a self-guided tour through the main area with most of the large formations. The Big Room loop was a paved trail through almost 1.25 miles of cave. The path was an easy walk so I was surprised to hear it would be an almost 1.5 hour trip. It took me over 2 hours. A lot of gape-mouthed staring and picture-taking slowed me down considerably. Many formations were still living; active dripping water drops, forming stalactites and stalagmites, were difficult to see in the dim lighting but easy to hear. Several park rangers were wandering about and often offered interesting information on some of the formations, illuminating activity you might have missed with their flashlights. The caves were lit as much as possible with hundreds of lightbulbs. Backup generators help prevent total darkness if there was ever a power outage. I would be curious to go on a more intimate tour someday and ask for the lights to be shut off to "see" what total darkness feels like.

Eventually the pathways, formations, and puddles in the caves started to look like cartoon monsters. At each turn, I started to name creatures . I would look down at each picture I took and see a menacing face I hadn't seen before. That was my signal to get back to surface-level before I lost my mind. 

After adjusting to the blinding light of the sun, I started out on desolate New Mexico and West Texas roads. Southern New Mexico and West Texas were a beautiful mix of rocky hills and flat cactus-filled dessert. My directions had me going down a county road for 16 miles from the Caverns. The road had no lanes and went through faux civilizations that the signs referred to as "villages." To me they seemed more like rusty truck graveyards. I choked on some trail mix at one point and wondered when my body would be found out there, if at all. Driving into West Texas leads you through a few reasonably sized towns, so at least getting stranded without gas wasn't a concern. I just filled up in every town no matter how far I had gone. The road led me parallel to the Mexico border just as the sun set. I couldn't focus on the lovely sunset over the hills because I was too fascinated by the Border Patrol trucks staked out on dirt access roads every few miles. The border is intriguing to me. Yet, I have an irrational Yankee-Midwest (Midwankee?) fear of it. My first thought when I looked at the Atlas: "I sure would like to get north of the border near Comstock before it gets dark, so that I don't accidentally drive into Mexico." It took me at least a few weeks in Del Rio to resolve the fear of unintentionally ending up in Mexico. Yes, my brain recognized how stupid and mildly xenophobic the fear was. Just to be clear, you cannot accidentally drive across an international border. My rational side always realized how impossible that would be unless you take your car off-roading, run through fields, or ford the Rio Grande. All roads lead to checkpoints. The cars with Mexican license plates I see at Wal-Mart didn't accidentally end up in Del Rio and decide to pick up some Sam's Choice cookies while they were here. You have to cross the border on purpose.

I believe those hills yonder belong to Mexico

I suppose it's the natural reaction toward what you don't know or understand. When I first heard about Del Rio, I was excited to embark on an adventure in a random place I would have no reason to visit. I would usually, however, get an unenthusiastic response from others when I would describe it as a place where I can see the lights of Mexico from our apartment patio. "Oh, uhh, have fun with that," people would say, accompanied by a half-serious joke about getting killed. You only run a real risk of death here if you are a deer.

The border: not scary at all on this side. I get that.

In case you didn't know, West Texas is really beautiful and friendly, and Del Rio is very safe. It's actually East Texas that's the stereotypically scary and unattractive part of the state. I blame it on Louisiana. In fact, being in small towns along the Louisiana border is probably exponentially more dangerous than the U.S. side of the Mexico border, at least if you carry some pigment in your skin like me. West Texas is actually an extension of the lovely landscape and friendliness of the Southwest. I really like West Texas. To me, that was the bigger surprise.

Nothing says Merry Christmas like
holiday lowriders in your parade

Christmas parade in surprisingly
cute San Angelo

I was won over on my first night in town when Tad took me to a greasy-spoon diner and the drive-through beer barn called Easy Access. Then again, I'm easily pleased. Since then, we have explored other areas in West Texas. Maybe it's just the excitement I get from the towns' Christmas displays, but I've enjoyed each place we've seen. Towns in this part of the state have a charm that is similar to what I love about small-town Kansas. The only problem is that everything here is so sooo far apart that it can get isolating and difficult to get much accomplished.  I can get restless at times, but I'm glad to have this experience and an opportunity to spend time with Tad after six months of being in far corners of the country.

Now that the epic trip is over, what's next on cheese front you say? That's a damn fine question. I'm only half-sure of that myself.  Stay tuned for more random cheese musings and updates in the next few weeks on my next moves. I planned to spend a month here until New Years, visit family in Omaha, and then try to get back into action. I'm already starting to feel rather useless. There is a possibility for an east coast opportunity at a retail cheese shop in the summer. Until then, I would like to get some retail or additional cheesemaking experience in Texas. Once Tad's year in Del Rio is over, we'll look for a final destination. Depending on where that is and what would work there, I might have to adjust my cheese goals. As I mused in a previous post, I'm starting to recognize the necessity of adjusting to where life goes and relinquishing some control over it. I, for one, certainly did not anticipate it taking me to a border town. But here I am!

Welcome home!

Road Trip v.2 (Part 11): Albuquerque and Roswell

The next morning I woke up at 5 a.m. to my first fresh snow of the season (not counting what we had seen on the ground in Oregon). It was thick enough that I had to scrape my car. I had no idea Santa Fe got so cold. My early morning was due to my unreasonable desire to keep my schedule as insane as possible. On a whim the day before, I booked a hot air balloon flight in Albuquerque. Because it was off-season and insanely cold, the prices for flights had dropped to a level I could afford as my last trip splurge. I arrived at the dirt parking lot around 6:30 a.m. Several groups of friends and couples arrived as well. After the crew inflated the two balloons, they crammed us all into the baskets. I was shoved in a corner with a few other groups. It was a tight fit, but it was better than riding in a hot air balloon all by myself. We lifted off and I silently oooh-ed to myself. When we crossed the Rio Grande, the pilot dropped us down to skim the river and lifted us back up with a long blast of ignited gas. The balloon ride was very calming, but I would have preferred a less urban location. We passed over neighborhoods, industrial complexes, and what I believed to be a scrap yard. The sunrise over the mountains behind Albuquerque was lovely, but I seemed only able focus on the chorus of barking dogs in the neighborhoods below. I'm likely the only one who noticed the dog symphony in my solitary corner.

We landed in a parking lot near a Sam's Club. The pilot explained that they usually have no control over where the wind takes the balloon and have to spot places to land while they are in the sky. We all helped pack up the balloon and the vans took us back to the original parking lot. There we were given a champagne "breakfast." The pilot explained the historical tradition behind having champagne after a hot air balloon ride, which I immediately forgot as I choked down a plastic-wrapped bear claw.

Fox! (I think). (Note: I've been informed
that I'm an idiot and this is a coyote. I
am obviously no Jack Hannah.)

I was on the road again by 9:30am and on the way to some alien adventures in Roswell. Just outside of Roswell, I first stopped at the Bitter Lakes Wildlife Refuge. I'm not certain what the place really does because they do allow hunting. If you let people run around shooting at animals, I don't really see what the refuge part is. I drove the eight-mile loop around the refuge, which took me past a large wetlands area filled with cranes, ducks, geese and other birds. The right time to visit the refuge is at dusk or dawn to see the large flocks of migratory birds flying in and out. At least that's what the guy at the frozen custard stand where I stopped that night told me. His mom and other locals enjoy seeing the birds swooping in, covering the sunset in the sky. He lamented that I had not seen the same. Instead, I just saw them chilling in the distance, being boring. The trip was worth it, however, because on the way out I was just a few feet away from the cutest fox, coyote or fuzzy desert creature staring at me from the side of the road. I know that doesn't sound that thrilling, but compared to a bunch of do-nothing birds, he or she was awesome.

In town, my first stop was the International UFO Museum. It wasn't nearly as sensational and exaggerated as I thought it would be. I actually learned a little. While the exhibits seemed hastily curated, they were well sourced and packed a punch of legitimate information. I was impressed. The exhibits told various stories of sightings, encounters, investigations, and, of course, a lengthy narrative of the Roswell UFO crash incident. It was a fairly objective and very thorough approach to the story. In addition to pictures and their own descriptions, the museum had collected and posted affidavits from those involved in the incident, newspaper and radio clippings, and other research findings. The museum actually hopes to expand and include an even stronger focus on research objectives. There was actually a research library in the back that was free to visit. The library stocked hundreds of books on astronomy, alien encounters, scientific musings on aliens and UFOs, and various conspiratorial books. There was a bona fide librarian in there and a local resident perusing the card catalog. The guy looking around seemed to be a regular. He was comfortable in the library, wearing a fluffy hat and sweatpants. The librarian called him by name and mentioned seeing him later. Hilariously cliche conspiracy freaks are alive and well in Roswell, using the UFO research library. And it filled me with such unexplainable happiness.

"So I says to Mable, I says"

After the UFO museum, I did some souvenir shopping in one of many kitschy alien stores. Yes, Roswell totally milks the alien thing. At least in the touristy downtown area, they lay it on thick. The alien stores all started to blend together, much like the trinket stores in San Francisco's Chinatown, except the hilarity of Roswell made me much less frustrated. I took some pictures, bought some souvenirs and gifts, and headed to the only other "museum" to visit. The Alien Zone & Area 51 Museum was more like a fun house than a legit learning experience like the UFO museum. They had a gift shop, arcade area, and several bizarre staged areas where they had set up alien mannequins in various lifelike scenes. I went nuts in there. I spent a good thirty minutes shamelessly staging, self-timed pictures with the alien mannequins. I left feeling an odd mix of embarrassed and proud of what I had accomplished. Finally, I hit up a wine tasting room downtown. My goals here were two-fold, 1) get some hilarious alien wine and beer, and 2) ask a local business person about the good places to eat. I figured the guy working in a run-of-the-mill business might have more wits about him to give better advice than the lady sitting in the dimly lit alien store with her chihuahua. The alien wine and beer was surprisingly decent, and I left with a few food recommendations.

Rough night

The top recommendation was pub food at Billy Ray's. I had also read about good Italian food at Portofino. Billy Ray's was closer, so that's where I headed. The parking area was a a dark dirt lot without marked spaces. The entrance was so dimly lit that I feared my string of nightly "not assaulted" confirmation texts to Kim would end here. I called both Kim and Tad to ask them to do some Internet reconnaissance on the place. They confirmed that people had come here and left alive enough to post positive things about it. Billy Ray's is the textbook divey jem. Yes, the bar and dining area were dimly lit and low maintenance. But everyone was incredibly friendly and eager to strike up conversations. They had their own chef--who seemed like he was the only one doing all of the cooking. Nobody had ordered food yet, so at first the chef was hanging out at the bar, chatting with us. After I ordered, a group of regulars came in to dine and he disappeared in the back. The menu seemed low on choices. The bartender mentioned, however, that the chef will cook up pretty much anything guests requested off the menu as well. Nevertheless, I had decided to have a mini-Roswell food tour. I ordered a small a la carte plate of chile relleno and planned to head to Portofino to try a small plate there as well. The chile relleno was amazing. Maybe best ever. I might just be saying that because it was swimming in cheese. But I also wanted to lick the chef's green chile sauce off the plate.

I left for Portofino, excited to see what they had to offer. I walked in and the gruff woman at the door seemed annoyed that I simply wanted to order some take-out (even though they had a to-go counter area). She came to the counter and responded to my two menu questions like I was an idiot. I tried to ask her a friendly question about their Spumoni, an Italian ice cream dessert that is rare to find in its proper delicious form. Again, she responded as if she wanted to throw hot pasta in my face. My response: "Actually, nevermind, I'm all set on food. Have a nice night," followed by walking out. That wench beast wasn't getting any of my money. Instead, I went back to Billy Ray's, where everyone knows your name and is happy to be alive, and ordered another Chile Relleno to go. I picked up dessert at the frozen custard stand where the older gentleman chatted me up about the wildlife refuge and other things to do in Roswell. I loved that everyone in Roswell was so incredibly welcoming and friendly, despite living in such a oddly-themed little town....well everyone except the people at Portofino; they can suck it.

I had always wanted to visit Roswell. Hey, I used to watch the X-Files; I appreciate the historical value of the whole Roswell incident. Mostly I just love towns that are able to capitalize on really obscure popular culture phenomena. It was kind of like that time I visited the town in North Carolina on which Mayberry was modeled....but different. I'm fascinated by the residents who build normal lives around a town of unique gimmicks and odd tourists. I know it's likely not the case, but it seems like every day has the potential to be an adventure.

Roswell was my last overnight stop on the trip. The next day was the end. Carlsbad Caverns would be my last activity. I was a little disappointed that the amazing road trip was over. At the same time, I happy to stop bleeding money and incredibly excited to finally get to Del Rio and see Tad.

Roswell doesn't mess around with aliens:

Road Trip v.2 (Part 10): Taos and Santa Fe

Cartoon house

Gorge

The road from Durango to Taos was stupid, looping me down into New Mexico, back up to Colorado, and back down into New Mexico. I get it; mountains are big. Still, I was annoyed. At least I passed several snow-capped mountains and lovely valley villages. The other bonus of my route was the really bizarre houses built into the New Mexico countryside. Literally, built into the countryside. They were brightly colored adobe style houses that looked like they were half-buried in the ground. The architectural style was what I would describe as Fisher-Price Chic. It looked like living in a cartoon. So basically, the type of house I would like. On the way into Taos, I made a stop at the Rio Grand Gorge. A narrow bridge crosses the Rio Grande at a particularly deep point. People are allowed to walk onto the bridge to view the Gorge from above, as long as you can handle the swaying of the distressingly old bridge every time a car passes

I arrived in Taos and headed straight for the Taos Pueblo. Many of the adobe buildings in the Pueblo were built over a thousand years ago. The main structures were built between 1000 and 1450 A.D. The most amazing fact is that it has been continuously inhabited since that time. Most of the rooms and buildings house shops and galleries of Native American artisans. Some actually live in a few buildings, despite the lack of modern utilities. I was told that the majority of the people live on nearby land or on the reservation, so year-round occupancy in the original Pueblo buildings is likely relatively low. Still, from the posted signs and general goings-on that day, it seemed that the Pueblo plays a central role in ceremonies, rituals, and general governance.

I stopped at a gallery where an elderly lady was painting her clay works. We had a good conversation about the Midwest, namely the Kansas City Chiefs football team. Lawrence, Kansas, is home to both the University of Kansas and Haskell Indian Nations University. After talking to several different Native American individuals in both Taos and Santa Fe, I discovered that a surprising number of people in the Southwest had a connection to Haskell either by attending it or knowing a loved one who did. Turns out this woman's husband was once a track star at Haskell and instilled in her a love of all things Kansas and Kansas City, including Jayhawk basketball. Obviously, I had to buy something from her.

I also talked to a young woman who told me a bit about the history and demographics of the Pueblo while making me a deliciously fresh Indian Flatbread in a makeshift living room. She had actually lived in Lawrence and attended Haskell. As for the flatbread, it was delicious, but I owe her $2. After I ate, we discovered that nobody nearby could make change for me to cover all $5 for the treat. I felt rather guilty for partaking in her delicious homemade good.

Taos Plaza

In Taos, I visited a few other sites, including the main Plaza and an awesome toy store where I looked at buttons for twenty minutes. I'm easily entertained. I also visited the Kit Carson house, which was mildly informative. Kit Carson was a frontiersman credited as a major player in westward expansion and settling the Southwest. His house was well-preserved, but three rooms and a twenty minute History Channel video was not worth the entrance fee. I only went because I was running out of activities during my day in Taos. All in all, Taos was kind of a dump. The landscape was beautiful and I enjoyed visiting the Pueblo, but I was expecting a bit more. Perhaps I would appreciate Taos more if I cared about its proximity to awesome winter sports.

The sunset made up for anything that was lacking.

I left for Santa Fe just as it was getting darker, dreading the drive down a small highway in the dark. I stopped along the road to take a picture of the pink and blue disc-like clouds just as the sun was setting in the distance--a color in the sky that we had noticed in Arizona, and which Kim had aptly described as a pretty prom dress. I kept going and almost drove off the road when I saw the show the sun was putting on just before its bedtime. I pulled off again to take-in what looked like a horizon set on fire. I've seen a lot of great sunsets, but I don't think I've seen one so confoundingly breathtaking.

Artisans selling outside
Palace of the Governors

Santa Fe Plaza

When I got to Santa Fe, I was a hungry bear. I looked up a few food spots and embarked on an epic food fail, beating that of our frenetic, hungry afternoon in San Francisco. The first place I stopped on the Santa Fe Plaza did not serve dinner on Sundays. The second place was a few minutes outside of the heart of town, but it was touted as a cheap greasy spoon spot that was really popular with the locals. I found it pretty easily. Closed! I remembered seeing a restaurant open on one of the corners in the Plaza and decided to settle on that. I inadvertently walked into one of the spots I had seen online and vetoed because of its price-tag. I didn't realize it until I received the menu. I considered walking out, but was too hungry. Cafe Pasqual had received great reviews and purportedly had delicious food. I was broke, however, and not in the mood for a fine dining experience. I was awkwardly sat at their public table in between three sets of couples of varying ages on romantic getaways. I should have brought a book to read. Instead, I tried not to stare at any one person. The menu came out and the cheapest item I could order were veggie enchiladas for $30. Bah. Ordered. Eventually a few couples left and a few other parties of single diners arrived. They had books to read and fat pocketbooks to order whatever they wanted. Arrgh grumble grumble. The enchiladas were actually pretty good. Didn't blow my mind, but innovative, fresh ingredients pleased me. I'm a spice weakling, and the green sauce was a bit spicier than I expected. I was the lonely, bored diner, drinking water and ordering the cheapest item, while also dripping tears from my eyes and snot from my nose every time I took a bite. The guy next to me actually leaned over to ask if my dish was really that spicy while I was barbarically wiping my nose on the linen napkin. Not my night. I was tempted to order a dessert because they actually looked really good. Then I remembered what I paid for dinner and left.

The next day was a big one. By the end, I had mastered Santa Fe's confusing roads. First, I visited the Plaza, which was much prettier than the Taos Plaza. I stopped at the Palace of the Governors, which is the oldest functioning government building in America (or so the lady at the Christmas ornament store told me). It was closed on Mondays, so I couldn't go inside. I did stop to view what the Native American jewelry-makers were selling on the sidewalk in front.

San Miguel Mission

Somewhat Mysterious stairs

Wood window bars: Oldest House in USA
must have been in a rough neighborhood
where hoodlums had no access to saws...or their foot.

Santa Fe is heavy on historical churches. First, I visited the St. Francis Cathedral, which I had also seen aglow in its evening lights after dinner the night before. Then, I checked out the San Miguel Mission, a church built in the 1600s and known as the oldest church structure in America. Some of the relics inside the Mission dated back to the 1300s. On the way to the Mission, I walked by what New Mexico claims is the "Oldest House in the USA," also built in the 1600s. Because I like odd things, my favorite church stop was the Loretto Chapel. Inside the Chapel, there is a staircase with allegedly miraculous origins. When the church was originally built, it was lacking a staircase to the choir loft. The Sisters of Loretto, who were apparently uncomfortable with ladders, prayed for a staircase to be built. Then boom, out of nowhere, some vagrant shows up and offers to do it. He leaves before anyone can talk to him, thank him, or pay him. The true wonder of the staircase is in its design. It's a spiral staircase without any central or lateral supports. (The handrails and an additional support were added later.) No screws or nails were used in its construction, though wooden dowels hold it together. Architectural-types eventually examined the stairs. The structural technique was uncovered, and not quite the miracle it appears to be--though the private owners of the church who charge you $3 to enter might disagree. Still, the design and craftsmanship is worth seeing.

Davis Mather Folk Art Gallery

Canyon Road sculptures

Santa Fe is the one stop on the road trip where I was really lamenting being broke. I could have blown a fat stack on all the amazing art and jewelry galleries. I wandered through several galleries on Canyon Road, a street lined with countless art, craft, and jewelry shops. I pretended to have money (which is hard to do when you're wearing a hoodie) and collected a lot of business cards ... just in case...someday...next time? I visited the Davis Mather Folk Art Gallery, where I explored colorful Oaxacan and South American folk art for almost an hour. The Georgia O'Keeffe museum was last on my list. They are supposed to have the largest collection of her works in the country, but they apparently don't like to display much. It was a small museum and I went through it in about fifteen minutes. Though it was disappointing, I'm glad it led me past two of my favorite galleries: the Andrew Smith Gallery of photography and the Chuck Jones gallery. The photography gallery was a two-story house full of amazing original prints from big names like Annie Liebowitz and Ansel Adams. The average price tag on the pictures was in the tens of thousands. Chuck Jones was one of the original Warner Brothers animators. In that gallery there were dozens of cartoon screen prints from Jones as well as other famous animators, including Dr. Seuss.

Chocolate Elixir

Throughout the day, I went on the Santa Fe "chocolate trail." Santa Fe chocolate artisans are plentiful and skilled. I went to the four major chocolate makers and sampled everything from truffles, to almond bark, to caramels, to chocolate elixirs, to spicy chocolate ice cream. My lunch. After my long day and sugar-induced queasiness, I ended my evening at El Parasol, the popular hole-in-the-wall where I tried to eat the night before. Everything in New Mexico has green chile. Green chile stew and green chile burgers seemed to be the most ubiquitous. I ordered one of the specialties, the green chile burger. While waiting for my order and after reading articles on the wall, I went back and ordered a chicken taco as well. My Santa Fe trip ended beautifully back in my hotel room. Green chile burger: destruction. Chicken taco: dessert. Laying in bed watching football: done. Belly rub: in progress. I felt like a fat dude.

Road Trip v.2 (Part 9): Four Corners and Durango

There were tons of these boarded-up
buildings with random artwork on them.

Mars?

After I left Phoenix, I backtracked towards Flagstaff and took small state and US highways through Northeast Arizona. I felt like I was driving on another planet. At first, the flat, dry landscape turned shades of light red. The flatness gave way in the distance to steep canyons and ravines that initially seemed like a mirage. Suddenly I was in a rocky, red wonderland. I couldn't stop recklessly taking terribly framed pictures out of my car window while driving. At certain points, I had to stop and take in the landscape properly. There were smatterings of dilapidated souvenir stands and hawkers' gimmicks. I stopped once and was mildly hassled by hawkers trying to show me dinosaur tracks for an unadvertised sum of money. The highway wasn't a well-traveled one, but it was filled with all sorts of graffiti art mural-ed crumbling buildings, lonely souvenir stands, and other oddities. Monument Valley, the only major tourist attraction within a couple hundred miles, was halfway down the road. I didn't explore the rock formation "monuments," but from the highway you could see the impressive rocky skyline. I'm now in love with the Southwest's landscape.

I reached Four Corners in the afternoon. The Four Corners monument is maintained by the Navajo nation and charges a small entrance fee to see and stand where the borders of Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado supposedly meet. I've read that modern GPS tools have indicated that the monument is anywhere from 2,000 feet to 2.5 miles away from the true latitudinal and longitudinal borders where it should have been placed. The original 1868 survey, while technically a bit inaccurate because of the surveying tools available at the time, is legally recognized as the measurement for the states' lawful boundaries and monument's placement. Therefore, I can confidently say the law recognizes that the picture to the right is legit. Thus, the law also justifies the money I spent on Four Corners souvenirs from the booths set up by Navajo artisans at the monument.

Downtown Durango

Leaving the Four Corners, I entered Colorado en route to Durango. In Durango, I was meeting yet another great friend, Chris. I worked with Chris this summer in Connecticut at Cato Corner. Chris had been making cheese at Cato Corner for a couple years when I arrived. Shortly after I left Connecticut for Washington, Chris also left to test the waters in Colorado. When I got to his house, I discovered that our friends at Cato Corner had sent him some cheese a few days before. We had a nostalgic cheesy dinner of Cato Corner cheese. The previous six months had come full circle. Afterwards, we hit up a few bars on Durango's obnoxiously cute downtown strip. As I drove toward Durango, I went through a lot of dingy, remote towns. There wasn't much to see in any town other than Dairy Queens, one of which sated my afternoon snack craving. Durango, however, was a beautiful small town tucked between a few mountains that smacked of a resort village for ski- and outdoorsy-types. Coffee shops, local stores, historic buildings, and small bars lined downtown. We first went to an old-timey themed bar inside a historic hotel. The waitresses dressed in turn of the 19th century costumes, which seemed mildly humiliating. The bar was a great, laid-back place to hang out. The second stop offered a taste of the potentially annoying side of living in Durango -- lots and lots of drunk and obnoxious, fresh-out-of-college girls and beefcakes....Ok, so I guess that's only annoying if you're not into that sort of thing. I had a great time hanging out in Durango. Also, Chris has the cutest puppy in the world, so that was a plus. The next day, I returned to yet another lonely winding highway en route to Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico.

It must be lonely being a hawker in the desert

Monument Valley in the distance

Cutest puppy in the world