Artists in Community

"I never thought they had this much snow up here," said Andy. Route #377 to Chilili was a snow-packed sheet of ice. "This is when you see the difference in taxes." The road was heavily traveled from 7,300 feet into Albuquerque, but it wasn't sanded at all. The brilliant morning sun softened the surface, but clouds shrouded the highest peaks at a blustery 16 degrees, and 25 m.p.h. winds shook powdery white from the cedars at the 7,400-foot elevation. Then we headed down the other side.

Escohosa at the top had No Trespassing signs and Cattle on Road signs on both sides. Going down meant aiming Little Red in the center of the road and keeping the speed at 20 m.p.h. so we didn't spin into a ditch or go off the side. We could see the valley 15 miles below us. "I can tell you one thing," said Andy, holding tight to the steering wheel, "I'm glad for the sun and for front wheel drive."
"That's two," I said, "and I told you Little Red would handle well in the snow."

"But the sun here helps," said Andy. "This will be a sheet of ice tonight." The morning news had said the whole city of Santa Fe had only five plows. Plowing Route #377 would do nothing because the snow was already packed down hard.

Near Route #55 toward the valley a thousand feet down, the road cleared, but the wind picked up. Around Tajique and Torreon we passed garlanded crosses. "Someone died on those bends," I said.

"I read an article last night," commented Andy, "that said American Indian males have a very high incidence of depression and suicide in general." The roadside crosses probably reflected excessive speed or drunken driving.
It was mighty cold at Quarai Ruins, a mile west of Route #55 and once the home of about 500 people. Ranger Murt welcomed us, the first visitors to actually sign in for two days. "Be careful," he warned. "It's very slippery." Ruins from the Franciscan settlement of 1630 to 1680 included the three-story walls of the church. Anasazis occupied the area for 400 to 600 years before the Spanish, and, for a time, the Indians lived in harmony with the newcomers. But increasing demands by the Spanish government for products and increasing intolerance of Indian rituals, especially the kachina dances, fostered discontent, secretism and revolt among the native peoples during the era of the Spanish Inquisition.

"It's the wind," said Ranger Jerry at Mission of San Gregorio de Abo. He and Andy chatted about days off and life as a ranger while I looked around the gift shop. "The wind whips across here, which makes it colder," he said.
Abo, a pottery center for the Mogollon people for as much as 700 years, was inhabited for probably 7,000 years and preceded by nomadic Indians who may have arrived as early as 20,000 years ago. Once the Spanish settled in 1621, the settlement died within 50 years. Threats from Apaches to the North in the 1660's didn't help, nor did widespread epidemics of disease brought by Spanish. The natives had little resistance to European disease, and droughts and famine of the 1660's and early 1670's made starvation a reality, as well. Battered by disasters, the 1,500 people of Abo left between 1672 and 1678, but in the interim two churches had been constructed, the first by 1629 and later the renovated three-story building with a sophisticated buttressed roof.
An army expedition led by Major J.H. Carleton discovered the ruins in 1853 and described them as "standing there in solitude with an aspect of sadness and gloom... the cold wind... appeared to roar and howl through the roofless pile like an angry demon." Things haven't changed all that much.

The sign in Rio del Oreo said -228 degrees F. The ruins had not been quite that cold. We stopped along the road a couple times for pictures of blue sky breaking through.
Ranger Dave at Petroglyph National Monument Visitor Center in the shadow of Sandia Peak warned us that they were closing early, so gates to the main area would lock at 3 p.m. The two northern canyons operated in conjunction with the city would be open until 5 p.m.
Boca Negra Canyon petroglyphs included three short trails in the lower section, probably a total of a mile, and a longer mile trail in the upper section. Here and there we picked out drawings pecked into the desert varnish on the lava. Famous for human-like figures, animals and geometric shapes, the ancient artisans completed most of their decorating around 1300 A.D. "They are all so different," said Andy.

"Well, it was an artist colony," I suggested. "Different artists have different styles."

He laughed.

The wind picked up when we found Piedras Marcadas Canyon a couple miles northeast. There, nestled in a residential section, the trail followed an ancient ridge of lava for a mile and a half. Six major areas of side trails identified petroglyph collections. Bundled in our warmest jackets and hats, we traversed the whole stretch, the side routes and back to Little Red by 4:45 p.m. The car was a welcome sight as the sun went down and temperatures plummeted. The last night of the year was a cold one in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Predicted low was 9 degrees.

Battling the Blizzard

"We could stay in Gallup another night," I suggested, looking out at the snow-covered parking lot at 6:00 a.m.
"Yes, but the storm is supposed to move east, so things could get worse," Andy argued. "Albuquerque doesn't get that much snow usually. If we leave now, we might have a better chance of getting across the mountains and there is much ore to do in Albuquerque than in Gallup."
So we set out from Gallup on Interstate #40, heading toward Grants. The highway was closed the other direction from Winslow west.
I-#40 before us looked like a ribbon of light brown, where sand had been spread across a sea of white.
"As long as I keep seeing headlights from the other direction, we're okay," said Andy. A state cop passed us. "That's a good sign too," he added.
We maintained a steady 30 m.p.h. Grants was 67 miles, according to the GPS. It would take us hours. Semis zipped around us, probably doing 45 m.p.h. Andy held the wheel with two hands and kept his foot steady. "The problem is they probably have only one plow to do miles going both directions," he said. The snow-covered interstate, dotted with huge chunks of mush and ice, looked as though it hadn't been plowed at all.

On the eastern side of the Continental Divide at 7,290 feet, the sun broke through with a penny-size patch of sky. "It should get better since we've crossed the Rockies," said Andy.

Around Grants the road improved for a while, and we could actually see pavement, but then the blowing snow and 50 m.p.h. gusts of wind took over. "I can't even tell where the lanes are," said Andy, as we passed through Acoma. "They really need to sand this stretch. It's downright horrible. Solid ice...a different kind of bad from Gallup." Winter Conditions. Take Extreme Caution! flashed the overhead sign.

Near Laguna, a Fed Ex piggyback slid off the highway into the median divider at the base of a 1,000-foot rise going west. We clocked three miles of backup the other way. "And it's only going to get worse," said Andy. "They've just started to clear it, no plowing has been done that direction so the road is all ice, and the storm is moving east."

We counted ten spin-outs, two cars flipped sideways in the ditch, before the road cleared a couple miles west of Albuquerque. Amazingly, NO snow! "I'm glad we're here," said Andy, breathing a sigh of relief. "There's a lot of snow behind us."

In Albuquerque at the entrance to Old Town, the statue of La Jornada stood out against the sky. It was the first blue break we had seen in the weather all day.

For four hours in the afternoon we walked around Old Town Albuquerque, visiting San Felipe de Neri, the Spanish church established in 1706, and browsing in the shops. American Indians lined the plaza with their handcrafted jewelry spread on the ground, anxious to make sales but shivering from the bitter cold wind. Haddie and Najeh at Fetish Gallery helped us pick out white corn maiden to add to our kachina collection back home. We chatted at length with owners of two other shops, the rewards of visiting in the off season on a blustery day.

"I'm so glad we left Gallup, or we would be stuck in the motel room," said Andy, as we walked back to the car. "At least we've been outside half of the day." Huge black clouds billowed over the mountains around Albuquerque, and winds whipped around each corner. By evening, snow threatened.

Gallup...ing to New Mexico

Bobby Troupe said, Get your kicks on Route 66, the all-American highway from Chicago to Los Angeles. We drove back into Petrified Forest about six miles, as far as the Route 66 display.

"I wouldn't call this kicks," I said, as wind whipped my ears and light flurries froze my fingertips.

Andy laughed, pretended to drive the model vehicle front end and checked out the old touring chassis. We could see for miles across the plains, ten miles distant according to the morning news, with an 11,000 foot ceiling, but the white sky boded winter. The weather deteriorated as we stopped at pullouts back toward the entrance of the park.

From Lacey Point to Whipple Point to Nizhoni Point to Pintado Point, my camera trigger finger moved faster and the stops got shorter.

"Do you want a picture here?" asked Andy, pulling Little Red into the parking area at Chinde Point.

"Yes," I told him. "We took pictures here late yesterday. It might be fun to see the comparison."

With each step the wind picked up and temperatures dropped. "5,680 feet," said Andy, when we walked out to Tawa Point. "We're higher, so it's colder."

We passed up Kachina Point Trail. Too cold.
At Tiponi Point the snow powdered the ridges and edges with lines and blobs of white sugar. A sweet picture. The flurries continued when we left the Visitor Center, Fred Harvey gift shop and movie theater.

Back on Interstate #40 the snow increased, at first just a light dusting, then everything powdered, and 25 miles east, only the ribbon of highway stretched black ahead of us.

"How high are we?" asked Andy, when we passed Sanders, Arizona.
"5,980 feet," I told him, checking elevation on the GPS.
"It's definitely building up on the road now," he said, pulling around a semi as we crossed into New Mexico.

"You are higher too," I said. "6,210 feet."
"They have sanded the road already," he noticed.

Everything blended white--sky, grass, sandstone cliffs, powdered trees, roadside shoulder. Even the road was covered more and more. Then 14 miles from Gallup we met a plow, and the ribbon of highway stretched black again.

Snow flurried off and on all day and then fell in earnest around 4:00 p.m. We holed up in the motel. By 5:00 p.m. the parking lot was covered. Before we left Little Red, Andy lifted the windshield wipers. "At least they won't freeze to the glass this way," he said. We watched other guests follow suit. Undoubtedly, the storm was coming full fury.

Petrified

As the sun lightened the eastern sky, we walked Troon North for a half hour of brisk morning exercise. On the Road Again played in my head as we packed up Little Red, said goodbye to Shannon after a wonderful visit and drove east out of Scottsdale. It was Day #106 of our trip, and we really were on the indirect way back home.

"I would have thought we would be seeing snow already," said Andy, as we headed northeast toward Holbrook, Arizona. Peaks accented both sides of the highway, with Route #87 threaded between them. He pushed up the lever for the heater. "It's getting colder here. I can tell all of a sudden," he added. "Grand Canyon National Park is supposed to drop to five below tomorrow, so I'm surprised there is no snow here." We drove through Payson and headed east on Arizona Route #260. Bright sun warmed the land to 51 degrees and even surrounding peaks rose green against the sky. Only the couple high fleecy cirrus clouds hinted at precipitation to come. "We're going up again," said Andy, as we climbed through Tonto National Forest. "It will be a lot colder when we get out of the car now." The GPS reading climbed too. At 7,500 feet a dusting of snow whitened some crevices in the rocks. By 7,624 feet snow patches a couple inches deep filled all the nooks and lined the north facing roadside. Near the crest at 7,719 feet we passed a small frozen lake, Wilton Spring Lake, but only a few white patches on the south facing side dotted the mountains of Sitgreaves National Forest between the ponderosa pines and cedars.

For 30 miles south of Holbrook, Route #377 passed in a narrow ribbon through high plateau ranch land. Red rock, bunch grass and sage covered the plains in every direction. Occasionally a couple black cows grazed near wire fences. "If the forecast is right," said Andy, "it could be snowing when we get up tomorrow. Phoenix is due for half an inch of rain, so that's a pretty big storm."

"It's cool out, but we can walk comfortably in jackets," I answered, climbing back into Little Red after snapping a photo of the Holbrook sculpture at the edge of the city. We stopped again on the other side of Holbrook. Ranch grass stretched as far as we could see, and brush strokes of clouds painted streaks and dabs overhead.

We're going to see the clouds before Shannon does in Scottsdale," said Andy. "It's coming across the state at an angle."

We turned north toward the Petrified Forest.

Giant Logs Trail behind the Visitor Center offered a quarter mile taste of the colorful petrified giants, trees buried during the Triassic Period.

Crystal Forest Trail, nearly a mile around, earned its name from the white quartz log sections. But we also read that sadly 12 tons of petrified wood were removed from the park every year, and here many of the most beautiful pieces had been taken by thoughtless visitors.
Long Logs Loop walked us past hundreds of petrified wood chunks, as well as huge stone trees. The half-mile trail out to Agate House extended our walk to the petrified wood eight-room pueblo, thought to have been built between 1050 and 1300 A.D. but only occupied a short time because it had no accompanying kiva.

At Blue Mesa Loop the badlands bluffs rose high above surrounding grassy plateau land. "We don't have time for the walk down," said Andy. "The park closes at 5:00 p.m., and the mesa is already enveloped in shadows. I don't know whether 5:00 p.m. closing means clear out by 5 or no one is allowed in after 5," he added.
Newspaper Rock Overlook and Puerco Pueblo Trail preserved evidence of an ancient civilization that gathered native plants and farmed beans, squash and at least four varieties of corn along the ancient Puerco River. The civilization reached its peak around 1250, when the pueblo could have house 200 people in its single story 100 rooms. A small pueblo for about 18 families, it included petroglyphs pecked into the desert varnish resin on the sandstone. From high above we picked out an antelope, a crane, a human-like figure and concentric circles like a solar system. I guessed the two foot prints might have been done by more modern-time artists. But the movie at the Visitor Center included a clip of the 750-year old feet and identified the petroglyphs as some of the best in the world.

At Pintado Point we could just make out San Francisco Peak, 120 miles away.

Chinde Point in the Painted Desert burned red at sunset, but temperatures dropped dramatically. Just snapping pictures froze my fingers. The park ranger at Tiponi Point called out from his van window, "The park is closed." It was 5:12 p.m., and we were headed for the exit.

"We're on the way out," Andy answered politely.

"No stops," he demanded.
The sun disappeared as we approached the electronic gate. By the time we drove back to Holbrook, the temperatures had fallen to 37 degrees. Brrrrrrrrrr. It was winter here.

Sights and Sounds Heard

The Yellowhouse Dancers performed in Steele Auditorium of the Heard Museum in downtown Phoenix at 11:30 a.m. and outside of the Heard at 1:00 p.m. Narrator, commentator and emcee Navajo/Maricopa Lane Jensen introduced the troop members, including his 12-year old son Tyrese, two-time world champion hoop dancer. We watched in awe, captivated by the beautiful costumes and intricate footwork. Hopi drummers maintained the rhythms and told the stories in song.

"Not every dance is the same," Jensen told the audience of a couple hundred. "It's really different from tribe to tribe, especially in the Southwest, but the dances express the cultures of the people. It's how they pass on stories and traditions."

Before and after the performance, we browsed in the museum, reading the history displays and admiring the native American jewelry, sculpture, weaving and art. A newer disturbing historical display showed the treatment of Indian boarding school children in the early 1900's, when government officials questioned the existence of reservations. "Deeply disturbing," said Shannon, as we walked through the second floor area. Certainly not a subject of pride for Americans. From Inuit in the far north to Yaqui in the deep south, the Heard Museum displays the cultures and histories of every tribe. I wanted to shop in the museum gift store, but Andy reminded me, "No room in Little Red!" and we will be on the road tomorrow.

Musically Speaking

We spent a wonderful Christmas holiday in Scottsdale with Shannon. Her surprise to us included a day at the MIM.

The MIM, Musical Instrument Museum of Phoenix, far exceeded our wildest imagination as a place of interest. For four hours we walked from continent to continent, astounded by the number of musical instruments and the sounds, fascinated by the cultural information and artistry, and enchanted by the historical connections and the relevance to today.

With earpieces balanced on our heads and black box receivers hanging around our necks, we wound our way from country display to country display around the world, trying to read, visualize and listen to everything all at once. The museum, a magical place, came alive with each step. Even turning from side to side activated different screens and different instruments, the harmony and cacophony all blending into a musical potpourri.

"You can't describe it, Sue," said Shannon. "You just have to experience it."

The most extraordinary museum you'll ever hear travels through space and time musically like nothing you can imagine!

Community Living

The drive north from Tucson through Tonto National Forest offered blue skies, white clouds and panoramic views. "But where I would have expected the clearest weather of the trip--central Arizona--skies totally clouded," said Andy, as we left the old mining town of Globe.

At Tonto National Monument Ranger Drew provided a personal tour of the Lower Salada Cliff Dwelling. We hiked up the 300 feet just before he came on duty, only to find the last two switchbacks barred. As we turned back, disappointed, he hurried up the trail to open the gate and welcome us into the cliff house.

For half an hour Andy and I were the only guests in the mountainside apartment that overlooked Theodore Roosevelt Lake. Drew pointed out the interior community room with metate holes in the floor, where Salada women probably ground corn. Fingerprints in the mortar from 600 years ago showed where a father had fashioned the walls. Probably 60-70 people slept in this one dwelling, and many more lived in the area and created the type of pottery that influenced much of the Southwest.

No one really knows why the Hohokam people, another ancient Southwestern group, built the Great House in the 1300's that Spanish explorers named Casa Grande or why they abandoned their expansive village and farming community in the 1400's. Some think that inconsistency in water flow made community living in the desert too difficult. The changing land ultimately couldn't support so many people in one place.

But the Casa Grande Ruins supply evidence of a highly civilized people with an extensive trade network and with the most advanced system of irrigation along the Salt and Gila Rivers to water 16 harvested crops.

Because openings in the Great House align with the setting sun at the summer solstice, scientists theorize the structure served as a sort of farmland observatory. Protected since 1892, Casa Grande is the nation's first archaeological reserve.

We walked through the ruins and around the ball court and browsed in the museum before closing time. In a harsh and demanding land, these ancient people had learned creatively how to survive and thrive.

Winterhaven Spirit

When temperatures in the daytime hover at 70 degrees, it's difficult to think about Christmas for us Easterners. The Winterhaven Festival of Lights in Tucson illuminated the night and the spirits of visitors. I think all of Tucson turned out for the holiday celebration. Now it felt like Christmas.