Along the High Road to Taos

Three days into the experimental photographing-through-pain trip, I realized I'd made a mistake. In New York, I'd felt Brian's presence at every turn. We both so deeply loved talking with each other, easily spending hours jumping from one topic to another tangentially-related one; by now there was almost no subject untouched by memories of him. I despised him because even intangibles like my favorite hobby, intriguing books yet unread, fantasy travel locales—things I thought of as mine, things I thought of as ours—now belonged to him. I despaired for a break from my life.

But here, without work or friends to distract me, my imagination worked overtime. I no longer cared which betrayal stung most. Abandoning me for a woman he ended up dating only for a few weeks, despite all we'd meant to each other? Or running off to Thailand with his buddies, when he'd promised we'd spend our lives traveling together? There was absolutely nothing else on my mind.

The reason I had so much extra time to dwell on the issue today was because I was lost. Dangerously lost. I had accidentally driven into Carson National Forest the morning after heavy rains. My mind swung randomly between hating Brian, missing Brian, and wondering if bears would find my car stuck in the perilously-deep mud.

I'd never wanted him back. After our abrupt end, I told myself he was naïvely idealistic, he was self-centered, he was only selectively truthful. He wasn't even particularly attractive. I told myself these things, and they were all true; they didn't negate the gaping hole in my life.

The treacherous part of me added: and at an ludicrously muscular 6'3", he could push the car if necessary.

Church in Trampas, which I didn't actually see until my second go at the High Road

My major grievance with New Mexico's roads was that often driving straight along would put me onto a different road. Meanwhile, the road I was trying to continue on would veer to the left or right. In this manner, I drove right off the High Road to Taos (failing to see the sign for "76" turned left at Truchas) and straight into the woods.

Truchas cemetery

The High Road is the much-ballyhooed scenic route from Santa Fe to Taos. I was running late as usual, so while I stopped in Chimayo to admire the lovely adobe church and enjoyed the peaceful small cemetery in Truchas, I was really thinking about timing. I wanted to get to Taos Pueblo as close to the opening hour of 8AM as possible.

I may have missed the turnoff because of my rush. The High Road was a narrow 2-laner, so when I continued driving straight through cute little Truchas, I didn't think twice when it turned into a dirt road. I figured...I'm in a rural area, why not dirt? Eventually pine trees rose around me. Still I thought...well, sure...maybe it's a woody region.

After several minutes I knew things were wrong; my little Ford Focus was falling into deep SUV tracks, thick and muddy from last evening's rains. The roads were impossibly rough, giant holes slowing me to 7MPH.

Without knowing how much of the trail was behind me and how much still lay ahead, I couldn't justify turning around. Even worse, I was certain that the mud level and my difficulty in staying on the road meant I wasn't capable of turning. With my foot completely off the pedal the car still accelerated beyond my comfort zone, causing me to spin out a few heartstopping times.

I wanted so badly not to be alone.

I lost track of how long I puttered through woods, hoping I wasn't really in the giant blob on my map labeled "Carson National Forest." I missed opening time at Taos Pueblo, and by 9 I wasn't sure what the rest of my day would entail. My only consolation at this point was that if something happened—if I drove off the road, if my car got stuck, if I slid into a deer—I had all day to be found. My friends didn't know my exact itinerary. No one in Santa Fe knew I was here. My cell phone didn't get a signal. I was so frazzled that when I saw a cow grazing on the side of the road, I desperately clung to the hope that a farmer would peek out behind her. In addition to pure white-knuckled fear, I was harboring deep resentment toward the guy who'd promised to protect me.

Eventually I came upon a small parking lot, a trailer, and a family happily grilling out nearby. Near tears, I ran to them and burst out my tale of being lost, terrified, unsure of my location, helpmehelpmehelpmeplease!

They stared at me wide-eyed for a solid minute. Fuckin' A. Just my luck to be "rescued" by a family that doesn't speak English.

But they were merely mystified at my high-pitched nervous babble.

"Wait. You came from the mountain?"
YES.
"In that car?"
Not on purpose.

Site of my morning nightmare

My little blue car was now splashed heavily with brown. The family gently informed me I had several miles left to go.

I was hesitant at crossing a deep pool of rainwater past the lot (while the kids ran alongside crying, "Don't worry, it's like a carwash!"), but the rest of the way was dry gravel. Well past ten, I finally got my "You are Leaving Carson National Forest" sign. I'd never been more relieved.

<   previous      •      next   >