enchantment

Aug. 24, 2009

We biked Route 66 to Santa Fe’s Old Plaza. Along one side of the square, Native Americans sat on blankets hawking their turquoise jewelry, glass earrings, leather belts, and metal guitar picks. The colonial-era adobe chapel beckoned from up the hill. I bought Agua de Jamaica from a street vendor. Then, Bree and I made reservations at “The Shed,” renowned for its New Mexican cuisine; at 5:30 p.m. we returned for green chile burritos and blue corn tortilla enchiladas. Since we couldn’t peel ourselves away from Santa Fe, we returned to the hostel for another night.

In the morning, we started our ride towards Taos (off the route, be we heard it was worth it). Following the Rio Grande, we ascended 2,000 feet toward the mountain town and the Ashram someone said allowed camping. As the sun lowered and the mountain rose, it wasn’t clear if we’d make it before dark.

We stuck out a thumb.

A New Mexican woman with shiny black hair and piercing eyes pulled over. She said her youngest daughter rides, and helped us load our bikes in the back. We cruised the last 15 miles and on to her house—an adobe cottage on a sunflower-lined lane named after her family: los Ortiz, who trace their lineage directly back to the colonial Spanish. After viewing her metalwork creations, we googled the Ashram and she dropped us off.

Chai simmered in a silver cauldron. We sipped, set up our tent and joined the devout for meditation. In the town plaza the next morning, a middle-aged group of women performed Tai Chi. We didn’t need an invitation.

Leaving Taos, locals suggested “The High Road” for a downhill route back to Santa Fe. No one mentioned the road GAINED elevation for 20 miles before its decent. As we inched up hill, I glanced at the odometer, looked back down 10 minutes later and it hadn’t moved. Tears! Going “down” the mountain took two days, but we logged our 1,000th mile at Dairy Queen before rolling back into Santa Fe.