The key to enjoying college is figuring out how to maximize your time away from school. In all seriousness, university life can be a drain, and finding little moments to recharge your academic battery by embarking on adventures can be pivotal to a college experience. That’s why I was extra motivated to go on this trip. Caroline, Davis, Grace, and I had been counting down the hours until a four-day break when we would hopefully find some fun winter-accessible locations to camp. I say “winter accessible” because we live in Colorado, and as you might know, winter is an issue. For this reason, we elected to drive south, specifically to the light and heat of northern New Mexico.
A brief forty-five minutes of Google searching resulted in pinpointing the Taos area as our location of interest. Promptly, I closed the tab and continued working on an assignment for class. While a more prepared adventurer might have had further questions like: where will we camp, and what will we do, I had already made the decision.
As classes wound to an end, my excitement eclipsed that of reason. I was pumped with the idea of being on the road again, camping in a place I had never been, experiencing what this area of the US had to offer. Our professor released us from the last day, and like a kid on summer break, I packed up as quickly as I could and ran back to my house. I threw clothing and camping gear in a seemingly bottomless duffle bag while calling Caroline to inform her that we should bring swim trunks, just in case.
An hour later, the four of us sat parked in two Toyota Tacomas in a King Soopers parking lot, planning our meals.
“Pasta sounds easy.”
“Yeah, I’m down,”
“Maybe pancakes one morning?”
“Great idea!”
With our meals purchased and fridges filled, we began our expedition south.
Southern Colorado’s San Luis Valley is a stunning place to drive. The Sangre De Cristo Mountains line the road, and signs for Great Sand Dunes National Park clue us into the one-of-a-kind beauty of the area. Stopping for gas, I got out and stared in awe at the mesas jutting out of the ancient lakebed. It’s crazy how much beauty can be seen from the side of a random highway in this country. I probably could have saved a lot of money on my suspension and tires had I known this.
After three and a half hours of travel, we rolled into the small ski town of Taos, New Mexico. Neighborhoods of low adobe houses lined the streets. A series of confusing road signs led our two rigs through a small school and a cute shopping center. It reminded me of my childhood home in Lake Tahoe—small, quiet tourist towns whose economies were driven by seasonal industries. Before long, though, my lack of planning for the trip had caught up with us, and we were left searching for sites to see near Taos. After a few minutes, Caroline found a spot.
The Gorge Bridge is a marvel of engineering. The old metal construction gives the structure an antique vibe. When going over it, I timidly peered over the side and down into the massive chasm below me. Five hundred sixty-five feet down was the Rio Grande River, meandering its way at the foot of the massive canyon walls. Pulling over at the Western viewing area, we took a brief hike around and enjoyed the impromptu engineering feat we stumbled upon. “So, where are we camping?” A critical question, as the sun was getting low in the sky.
After fifteen minutes of looking, we spotted what we hoped was an open campground located inside the canyon near the Rio Grande. Google Maps led us down some backroads that turned from asphalt to dirt and from flat ranchlands to switchbacks. We wove our way down the canyon wall. As we rounded a bend, Davis flashed his lights at me. He quickly turned around and pulled off to the side of the road. Following his lead, I did the same and came to a stop behind him.
“What’s up?” I yelled out the window. Davis held a finger to his mouth and gestured to us to exit the truck. Davis pointed toward a rocky outcropping about thirty feet away. I peered out, trying to find what Davis had seen. I jumped when part of the outcropping moved; then everything came into focus. A herd of Bighorn Sheep was making their way towards us, stepping gracefully over the steep rocky escarpment. They were beautiful and had a wild, almost gritty way about them. They slowly grazed on the dried vegetation, making their way closer and closer to our rigs. We watched, transfixed by their methodical movements. After some time had passed and the shadows were getting longer, we waved goodbye to our sheep friends and continued the drive down to the campsite.
At the foot of the canyon, a small bridge crossed the Rio Grande. To the right, our site sat gated shut. We would have to find another option. We crossed the bridge and quickly found a dirt road that looked promising. It wound its way north, and before long, we stumbled upon another campsite, which was open. Fingering through what little cash we had between us, we came up with what was needed for two vehicles for one night. There wasn’t a single other person in the campground to be found. As the last remnant of light faded, our little spot felt cozy. We started a small fire and began cooking dinner, chatting, and soaking in the cool air. I felt like I was finally recharging from school.
We awoke cold the following morning. While I slept great, some of our party froze throughout the night in poorly insulated sleeping bags. That morning, over bacon and eggs, we discussed a critical next stop: a hot spring. We were in luck. Twenty minutes away was a small hike to a hot spring that flowed into the Rio Grande. Soon enough, we parked at the trailhead and began picking our way down to the riverside. The path was steep and windy, as the road wound down a cliff. Finally, we made it to a singletrack section that flanked the side of the river. Pools created by rock piles emerging from the river drew nearer, and a handful of people were soaking in them, steam obscuring their naked bodies. Being newbies to the world of hot springs, we were taken aback by these Adams and Eves; however, upon later discussion with the regulars, we learned this was regular behavior.
Each of us, in turn, entered the pool, soaking in the warmth of the water. After a frigid night, the heat and steam rejuvenated our morale. Before long, we were the only people in the hot spring, and we spread out, each of us trying to find the warmest area. Quietly, we listened to the river flowing next to us. On the far side, a fly fisherman slowly made his way downstream. It was an epic way to start the day.
Exiting the life-giving waters was a heartbreaking experience. The cold air stung as we stepped out of the steaming pools. Gingerly, we dried and did our best to shove our soaked extremities into dry clothes. By the time we reached the cars at the top of the canyon, we were ready to find camp again. Unfortunately for us, I had not planned that far ahead.
“So… where sounds fun to camp?”
“We could go south, hit Santa Fe or something.”
“That could work… have you ever been to Los Alamos?”
“Ooh, that sounds awesome!”
In an attempt to find a campsite, we buried our noses in our phones. My Gaia Overlanding layer aided me as I scrounged for National Forest or BLM land that might work for that night’s camp. After a couple of minutes of searching, I found a spot up in the mountains just outside of town. We punched in the coordinates and started the hour-long drive. The sun set over the scenic mesas that flanked the winding roads. Slowly, snow began to fall and gather by the roadsides.
“Hopefully, that’s not a bad sign,” I muttered to Caroline, who grimaced in reply. By the time we pulled off the main road, the sun had long since gone down. An RV sat off to one side; an older man peered out from its warm interior, watching our two Tacomas make their way down the snow-covered dirt road. We wove our way into the forest, the snow getting deeper, the night darker. At last, we reached a small clearing covered in iced-over mud. Davis turned his car around and pulled up to my window.
“Is this the spot?” It wasn’t much of a looker, I had to admit. And the quagmire was sure to be miserable. We pulled up our phones, and with barely a bar of cell service, Davis spotted something.
“Bandelier National Monument has a campground that might be open.”
“Great, worst things worse, we turn back!”
At that, we drove off, glad to leave the muddy clearing in our mirrors.
Much to our relief, Bandelier’s campground was open, and given the time of year, it wasn’t hard to find two spots together. After paying the fees, we set up camp, enjoying the stillness of the night. We started a small crackling fire under a clear sky filled with stars. Each of us sat back in our chairs, reveling in the silence.
“So what do we want to do tomorrow?” I asked lazily.
“Maybe a museum in Los Alamos?”
“Then perhaps Santa Fe?”
“Works for me.”
Thankfully, our group wasn’t too bitter with me over my minimal (if any) amount of planning. The following morning, we awoke to a cold sunrise. Drearily, we exited our tents, made some morning coffee, and packed.
After the (somewhat) recent release of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, I was excited to visit Los Alamos. The museum was a fascinating look at not only the history of the Manhattan Project but of Los Alamos itself, including how, before the military effectively took over the town, the Los Alamos Ranch School provided opportunities for young boys aged 12-18 to engage with the local environment and learn to live off the land. Before them, the museum briefly touched upon the ancestral owners of the land; Pueblo peoples had occupied it for generations.
Feeling more educated, we loaded back into the trucks and set our sights on Santa Fe. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this last-minute addition to the trip. Never having been and getting most of my New Mexico education via binge watching Breaking Bad, I was eager to see what the less rural part of the state looked like. The drive south was stunning. The road wove through red snow-stained buttes, and Caroline, once again coping with my lack of planning, began looking into what downtown Santa Fe had to offer. She floated that we should drive through, and if anything really called to us, we could stop.
Downtown Santa Fe is nothing if not adorable. Immediately, we saw a handful of shops, restaurants, and a museum that we felt we needed to experience. We locked our rigs and began walking. So often when I overland or take smaller trips, I take for granted the amount of amazing stuff that can be experienced in urban centers. The culture, people, and activities serve as another type of adventure when it comes to exploration. I love a good remote dispersed campground with a scenic vista, but sometimes exploring towns and cities can cater to a different yet still profound sense of adventure.
Being college students, we walked gingerly through some of the galleries full of art we would have neither the means to buy nor the space to display. One specialty store gave us what felt like a dozen samples of the best honey I’ve ever had. Feeling a hankering for some good New Mexican food, we found a restaurant that had refreshing horchata. We left some time later, not knowing where we would camp but feeling enlivened by the enthralling afternoon.
“So we have a few options on where to go for our last night,” I said over the phone so all our party could hear.
“iOverlander says there is a campsite to the east that might work, but I’m not super sure how legal it is.”
“Hmm, okay, what other options do we have?”
“The other option that could be fun is to head back into Bandelier National Monument?”
After further deliberation and some frequent pitiful apologies on my end for the persistent lack of planning, we decided we would return to Bandelier with the hopes of getting in some late-night stargazing accompanied by a couple of glasses of prosecco. After all, what is overlanding if not camping in comfort?
We rolled in well after sunset. The moon was rising over the mountaintops, and the sky was clear. We set up our camp chairs and started a small fire. Grace poured us each a glass, and we sat back enjoying the final night of the trip. I was finally able to reflect on our adventure.
A lot of what made this trip so fun is that we were living in the moment. While yes, my lack of planning was often a hindrance to efficiency, the nature of the “Oh this sounds fun!” style of overlanding seems in some ways more authentic. The little revelations and last-minute additions defined the nature of this journey. Did we know we would be hotspringing with nudists, or taste testing honey in a Santa Fe shop basement? Of course not, but these fun surprises were the highlights and most memorable moments. Sometimes what makes travel fulfilling are the unexpected dashes of adventure, growth, and even uncertainty. I wanted this trip to be a time where I could recharge from the intensity of school, and the experiences did that and so much more, all because we were open to the unexpected.
Listen More: Andrew Comrie-Picard on the Power of Self-Belief and the Transglobal Car Expedition
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