Eagles Nest - Angel Fire (New Mexico). Finally, some pretty scenery. I had just come over a pass… elevation 9,820
feet, and thru an area called Red River.
It was more than pretty actually.
It was gorgeous. Just what I had
envisioned when I'd thought about what the Rocky Mountains in northern New
Mexico might look like… commanding… statuesque… elegant… and truly
magnificent. Next time I'm in the area
I'm gonna make sure I'm feeling less in a rush, and stop and take more
pictures.
I'd just come thru a spectacular area, and was getting ready
to go thru some even more meaningful terrain…
I stopped at the side of the little one lane road I
was on, at an old wooden bridge. I drank
the crystalline, sweet cold water from Coyote Creek, which wound it's way down
this pristine little valley I had found.
I took a picture of the bridge, and filled my spare water bottle with
it's nectar, and vowed to save it for a special occasion.
I drank the water like it was expensive champagne or fine
cognac. I took little sips and savored
the flavor, keeping the taste in my mouth and in my memory for a long
time. I must've stood beside that bridge
for 30 minutes… an eternity for me. I
had found the reason I'd chosen this particular route. I was in heaven. I need to go back to this bridge
someday. With a truckload of 5-gallon
water bottles and an equally larger amount of time to spend there, rather than
the measly 30 minutes I allotted myself on this day.
I had only gone around two or three bends in the road
before I came up to another little wooden bridge… this one, with a car parked
just past it, and three young 70 year old ladies standing at the middle of it.
I stopped next to them, right in the middle of the bridge,
turned off Honey's engine, and took off my sunglasses. They told me they'd stopped because when
they'd passed me just minutes before and noticed me writing in my journal and
realized they wanted to stop and enjoy the moment too. They had been traveling for several days from
the east coast and were almost to their turning back point in Santa Fe. They asked me what I had written in my
journal, and I told them the truth (I am looking at my journal while I type
this)… I had written the words,
"This is why I am here."
There was not a mention of names between us, but the moment
was very intimate. One of them asked me
where I was born and when I told her… "Just south of San
Francisco." She responded with a loud
and proud, "I was conceived in San Francisco." I came back with an equally loud and even
more melodramatically proud, "I was conceived in the Grand Canyon"
(which is true).
It was priceless, these few moments with these strangers
from a different generation and from a different part of the Country. Sometimes I think back and wish that I'd
traded names and contact information, and then I remember… these are the
moments that are supposed to be anonymous.
It's not the names or the numbers that make moments like this special. It's something very difficult to
express.
We stayed right there, talking in the middle of the bridge
for at least 10 minutes, without me even getting off Honey. I took a picture of them with their camera,
but thinking back on it now, I purposefully chose not to take a picture of
them, knowing but not realizing it at the time that I wanted to keep this part
of my adventure as private and as special as possible.
Eventually a car came around the corner. I took in a deep breath… let out a long, slow
sigh… put on my sunglasses… fired up Honey… nodded my appreciation and respect
to the old chicks on the bridge… and
took off with a big smile of complete contentment and love in my heart.
I must go back to this
area… an approximate 75-mile stretch from the north end of the Taos Loop… highway
434/ 38… from just north of Red River, south to Las Vegas (New Mexico).
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