Driving into the Taos area could elicit many reactions. Disdain for the invasion of those "durn city folk" is one. But pure awe and wonder is probably the most common and is exactly what I experienced. The road north from Santa Fe winds its way through some small towns (lined with grubbin' New Mexican restaurants) and stunning natural features located on at least two different Indian reservations. Time to smoke'um peace pipe. Then the highway begins rising until, unceremoniously, it dumps you over the top of a low pass with a combination view of the deep Rio Grande Gorge on the left and the dramatic mountains surrounding Taos on the right. Gawkin' and swervin', trying to maintain, looking for a site I had camping on my brain.
Forget about finding a good campsite near town. All this place caters to are skiers in the winter and tourists buying art in the summer. I just can't understand why towns like Taos that have spectacular summer recreational opportunities don't provide some sort of centralized camping so that one may access both the downtown sights and the outdoor thrills. Usually towns that do charge a huge amount to stay. I found that the only choice for camping
lay northeast of Taos off of Hwy 150 about 15-20 miles from the city. There is a selection of about four or five good campgrounds that are spaced out along a mountain stream close to Taos Ski Valley. The designated camping site put me right on the water and that's no exaggeration. As you can see in the photo, my tent was so close to the stream that I had to put up the rainfly to keep the spray from soaking my sleeping bag (the tent is the small white object next to me lounging in the tree-crook seat). At night, the roar was so loud that it would have been difficult to carry on a conversation. Not a problem because I'm usually pretty sure what I'm trying to say when I talk to myself. Extended solitude has turned me into a babbling mountain freak.
During the first night there, I was visited by this huge coon who had little fear of humans. I guess years of careless campers have taught this guy where to look for nourishment. I had my food on total lockdown and he gots no love from me. The beast stood on its hind legs and must have been about three feet tall.
In the morning, I used
my last portions of perishables to make the delectable camping treat of steak 'n' eggs with bagel. I said a short morning prayer (only because the beef had well surpassed the "freshness" date) and put a massive portion of food and coffee to rest. What is it with me and food pictures!? In any case, I really wanted to load myself with energy for a ride that some local mountain bikers had told me was "rad".
The trail they pointed out was rad all right, but maybe a little too much so for me. I measure my rides these days by the number of times that I have to dismount during the trip due to obstacles or tough terrain. Normally I consider a "10-Dismounter" a successful trip. This one was at least a 50-D trip and at one point I almost started crying. "For the love of God, when am I gonna reach the top," I would have sobbed. To make matters worse, on the downhill portion my seat bolt came loose and I got a flat tire. I didn't have the right tool to fix the seat and I had to ride about 5 miles of shale and baby-heads (biker term) without the luxury of a comfy place to put my ass. The only thing that salvaged my day were the dozens of "jeep traps" that were on the descent. Jeep traps are huge mounds that keep people from taking 4x4's up the trail and they make for an exciting roller coaster-like experience. I won't even tell you how to get to this trail because it is really geared for highly skilled riders to which group I do not belong.
I actually think May is really not a
good time to visit Taos with the intention of finding good mountain biking. The altitudes are too high and 90% of the trails are still covered in snow. Those that are open are steep and technical. This picture of me flexing my massive biceps in front of Wheeler Peak (13,161 ft.) really shows how dramatically and quickly the mountains rise out of the flat Taos rangeland. Someone told me that the Rio Grande Gorge rim trail is nice but I didn't get a chance to make it over there.
On my final evening in Taos, I returned to camp to find a couple of guys fishing near my tent. We started jawing about lures and camping 'n' shit and they busted me open a frosty Corona for my swilling pleasure. One of the guys was visiting from Idaho and was yanking out nice 8-inch trout from a productive hole on the stream. After about 20 minutes it became painfully apparent that the other guy, the local, was completely housed.
Already slurring, breaking-off partial sentences, and mumbling things about a stint in Vietnam, he offered to clean some fish for me to eat. There are few things like the sweet taste of fresh rainbow trout and I readily obliged. He proffered up the biggest hack-job I've ever seen, leaving gills and fins and entirely messing up the fillet. After he had cleaned two trout this way and left me a mound of badly sliced fish, I had to hide my knife to keep him from doing any more.
"Have you scheeeen that (bleeping) knife?" he slurred.
"Uh, no, I can't seem to find it. Anyway, I heard there's some pretty good fishing upstream a bit. Maybe you should check it out."
"Wheressssh that (F-Bomb) knife. I know I jussssh had that knife." He was relentless.
"Dude, I don't want anymore fish. Thanks anyway, bro."
Somehow catching onto my complicated hide-the-knife ploy, he began to get belligerent, "If you're gonna be an assschole about it then...."
Luckily before Rambo could have another Nam flashback, his buddy came back and noticed the tension. He moved the party downstream a ways just in time.
With all due respect, I appreciated the fish. Spitting out bones and pieces of tail, I had one of the best dinners of the trip.
The next morning, out of my pure dedication to open space education, I passed up my chance to ride the Rio Grande Gorge so that I could drive back to Santa Fe to attend the First Annual Southwest Land Trust Conference. I encourage you to read my informal report on the event. To get there in time I had to be on the road by 5:30a.m. I am not the type of person who's particularly happy to be up early (or pleasant to be around) but the Taos sunrise really made it all worthwhile.
Forget about finding a good campsite near town. All this place caters to are skiers in the winter and tourists buying art in the summer. I just can't understand why towns like Taos that have spectacular summer recreational opportunities don't provide some sort of centralized camping so that one may access both the downtown sights and the outdoor thrills. Usually towns that do charge a huge amount to stay. I found that the only choice for camping
lay northeast of Taos off of Hwy 150 about 15-20 miles from the city. There is a selection of about four or five good campgrounds that are spaced out along a mountain stream close to Taos Ski Valley. The designated camping site put me right on the water and that's no exaggeration. As you can see in the photo, my tent was so close to the stream that I had to put up the rainfly to keep the spray from soaking my sleeping bag (the tent is the small white object next to me lounging in the tree-crook seat). At night, the roar was so loud that it would have been difficult to carry on a conversation. Not a problem because I'm usually pretty sure what I'm trying to say when I talk to myself. Extended solitude has turned me into a babbling mountain freak.During the first night there, I was visited by this huge coon who had little fear of humans. I guess years of careless campers have taught this guy where to look for nourishment. I had my food on total lockdown and he gots no love from me. The beast stood on its hind legs and must have been about three feet tall.
In the morning, I used
my last portions of perishables to make the delectable camping treat of steak 'n' eggs with bagel. I said a short morning prayer (only because the beef had well surpassed the "freshness" date) and put a massive portion of food and coffee to rest. What is it with me and food pictures!? In any case, I really wanted to load myself with energy for a ride that some local mountain bikers had told me was "rad".The trail they pointed out was rad all right, but maybe a little too much so for me. I measure my rides these days by the number of times that I have to dismount during the trip due to obstacles or tough terrain. Normally I consider a "10-Dismounter" a successful trip. This one was at least a 50-D trip and at one point I almost started crying. "For the love of God, when am I gonna reach the top," I would have sobbed. To make matters worse, on the downhill portion my seat bolt came loose and I got a flat tire. I didn't have the right tool to fix the seat and I had to ride about 5 miles of shale and baby-heads (biker term) without the luxury of a comfy place to put my ass. The only thing that salvaged my day were the dozens of "jeep traps" that were on the descent. Jeep traps are huge mounds that keep people from taking 4x4's up the trail and they make for an exciting roller coaster-like experience. I won't even tell you how to get to this trail because it is really geared for highly skilled riders to which group I do not belong.
I actually think May is really not a
good time to visit Taos with the intention of finding good mountain biking. The altitudes are too high and 90% of the trails are still covered in snow. Those that are open are steep and technical. This picture of me flexing my massive biceps in front of Wheeler Peak (13,161 ft.) really shows how dramatically and quickly the mountains rise out of the flat Taos rangeland. Someone told me that the Rio Grande Gorge rim trail is nice but I didn't get a chance to make it over there.On my final evening in Taos, I returned to camp to find a couple of guys fishing near my tent. We started jawing about lures and camping 'n' shit and they busted me open a frosty Corona for my swilling pleasure. One of the guys was visiting from Idaho and was yanking out nice 8-inch trout from a productive hole on the stream. After about 20 minutes it became painfully apparent that the other guy, the local, was completely housed.
Already slurring, breaking-off partial sentences, and mumbling things about a stint in Vietnam, he offered to clean some fish for me to eat. There are few things like the sweet taste of fresh rainbow trout and I readily obliged. He proffered up the biggest hack-job I've ever seen, leaving gills and fins and entirely messing up the fillet. After he had cleaned two trout this way and left me a mound of badly sliced fish, I had to hide my knife to keep him from doing any more.
"Have you scheeeen that (bleeping) knife?" he slurred.
"Uh, no, I can't seem to find it. Anyway, I heard there's some pretty good fishing upstream a bit. Maybe you should check it out."
"Wheressssh that (F-Bomb) knife. I know I jussssh had that knife." He was relentless.
"Dude, I don't want anymore fish. Thanks anyway, bro."
Somehow catching onto my complicated hide-the-knife ploy, he began to get belligerent, "If you're gonna be an assschole about it then...."
Luckily before Rambo could have another Nam flashback, his buddy came back and noticed the tension. He moved the party downstream a ways just in time.
With all due respect, I appreciated the fish. Spitting out bones and pieces of tail, I had one of the best dinners of the trip.
The next morning, out of my pure dedication to open space education, I passed up my chance to ride the Rio Grande Gorge so that I could drive back to Santa Fe to attend the First Annual Southwest Land Trust Conference. I encourage you to read my informal report on the event. To get there in time I had to be on the road by 5:30a.m. I am not the type of person who's particularly happy to be up early (or pleasant to be around) but the Taos sunrise really made it all worthwhile.
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