The Last Road Trip (VI)

Friday, September 16

Rested in Taos yesterday. I spent some time on the old plaza in the center of town, but other than that didn't do much except eat, sleep, and work out with a little light typing and filing on the computadore.

Taos is a bit overgrown, its population a strange mix of caucasian artists and Indians, many of whom are also artists. Like most tiny towns that have swollen, it's spread haphazardly on both sides of its one arterial, which is now clogged with traffic and atrociously ugly for the five miles or so that lead into the original town.

Never leave urban planning to real estate developers.

Feeling refreshed, I gassed up and headed back through the hills to try the church at Trampas one more time. The weather, as it has been for the entire trip, was glorious beyond words -- bright sunshine, cool temperatures, and gentle breezes. Cruising through the dignified pines of the Carson National Forest, I decided that this part of New Mexico has to be one of God's favorite spots, otherwise why would I be so obsessed with recording a visit to a little mud church in an obscure mountain village?

Pulling into the dirt plaza at Las Trampas, my heart sank as I saw the padlock on the door. Then a red pickup pulled into the plaza's other corner, and I crossed the dirt to meet one of the pillars of the community, a good looking, physically fit, and polite gentleman about my age named Alex Lopez.

"Oh, no, it's closed for repairs right now," he told me. "But maybe Mrs. Sandoval would let you in. Just go up this dirt road over here to the first house on the right."

After some difficulty I found the Sandoval residence, but only Mr. Sandoval was home.

"She's gone to the doctor in Santa Fe," he said. "She'll probably be back this afternoon. She's got the key with her, and it's the only key...oh, don't worry about him, he won't bite."

Back down at the bottom of the hill, I checked in again with Mr. Lopez, who was busy making repairs to the town's one-room schoolhouse. "Well," he said, "we do have services on the first and third Sunday of the month."

Day after tomorrow is the third Sunday. Trying not to sound too much like the governator, I told Mr. Lopez I'd be back.

It's only about an hour's drive from Trampas to Santa Fe where, after negotiating the clusterfuck of Cerrillos Road, the inevitable disaster of an arterial that distinguishes every town that's unexpectedly and haphazardly become a city, I landed in the tender mercies of Motel 6.

I'll hang around here tomorrow and play tourist. Las Trampas is worth one more try, and it seems appropriate to make it the last destination of the last road trip.

Did I happen to mention we now have the first batch of pictures?