I'd never seen a real American ghost town. The very idea conjured images of cowboys, shootouts, mines falling into disrepair, possibly even crazy ladies on their porch rocking chairs, cackling in delusion. The ghost town I visited in Syria didn't really invoke the same feeling.

Highway 14 is the slow route between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. Unless I were really in a hurry, I can't imagine choosing I-25 instead. Littered with the remains of mining towns and meandering through rolling hills, the Turquoise Trail is a beautiful byway through the past.

Cerrillos, a former turquoise-mining town, was cute but didn't have that spooky atmosphere I hoped for. It was odd...near the scenic outlook there was a touristy shop and a petting zoo featuring a slow-moving llama. It wasn't an entirely deserted ghost town; there was a small population there. I felt self-conscious walking around with my camera out while kids hung out on their bikes looking bored. Admittedly, I wouldn't have much issue with this in a rural town of a third-world country...what is it about photographing people in the developed world that inspires more suspicion, requires more confidence? I was happiest with my photos taken at the turnoff from 14 to Cerrillos, where old machinery dotted the landscape near the mountains.

Madrid is the premiere attraction on the Turquoise Trail and deservedly so. Fully resurrected, this former coalmining town is now a bustling haven for artists.

Entering Tiny Town...

Tiny Town church

Right before reaching the town proper, I pulled up to Tiny Town, a permanent outdoor installation by folk artist Tammy Lange. Like an ornate junkyard, Tiny Town creates a bizarre universe of recycled castaways. I've seen photos online of Tammy welcoming people to her little world but she was probably taking Labor Day off like everyone else; it was strange wandering through the place alone. Each piece of randomness came with absolutely no explanation; it was kooky junk for kooky junk's sake. Loved it.

Old house in Madrid

Highway 14 led straight through Madrid, slowing traffic to a crawl. The town seemed to be entirely shops, with a few hippies in vans hanging about selling handmade jewelry. The most interesting shops actually sold vintage collectibles, rather than dubious artworks.

A sweet Indian man selling what he called "Cuban bread" complimented my camera. In the last few years, as the average joe becomes accustomed to the digital revolution, classic cameras become more intriguing—even non-collectibles. I would have loved a photo of him with his son, but after we chatted a bit, I realized anew that I still hadn't grown comfortable photographing Americans. I would have been better off with a wingman, but this weekend I was out of luck.

Digital infrared, Madrid's Mine Museum

Madrid's outdoor Mine Museum (complete with quaint olde-timey photo studio) charges a fee for admission, but I had no idea who was collecting the money. I simply walked in, assuming someone would either stop me or charge me when I left. The museum included old equipment and vehicles, a dark section of mineshaft, and a couple sheds that appeared to be for storage rather than accommodation. The paid admission probably comes with an explanatory guide corresponding to the numbered exhibits, but I got some nice infared photos, learned nothing, and walked out for free.
Digital infrared, Madrid's Mine Museum

I was so caught up in traffic on the way out I noticed too late that there were more realistic-looking ghost town artifacts past the artists' hub. I wish I'd tried to pull off the road to wander around but I felt pressured by the impatient drivers tailing me.

Keeping one eye on the traffic behind me also meant I drove right past tiny Golden. Expecting the former gold-mining town had been revived like Cerrillos or Madrid, I drove past the general store before realizing that was actually the spot. I wanted badly to turn around because Golden seemed to be the most photogenic ghost town of all, but past Golden there are no more pullouts until Albuquerque city limits.

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