I once saw a Netflix series called “Godless” a brutal Western filled with interesting characters and strange twists on traditional simplistic cowboy plots. The opening scenes were set in Creede where a ghastly massacre took place. Today the Hollywood star is a former mining town (aren’t they all around here?) and a bustling tourist trap (ditto).
The rock towers over Creede but at street level…
…the town peters out into a mining museum. The road shows a dead end on Google maps. We turned around and left.
No leaving before we had lined up with the off-road crowd to buy gas at the cute little gas station (which also sells diesel). Nowhere around here are you in real desolation or isolation. Not in summer.
Colorado Highway 149 enters Creede down the Rio Grande Valley and leaves on the banks of the Blue River which heads toward, broadly speaking New Mexico, coincidentally our destination for the day.
It was a pretty drive, which is clearly the norm around here.
More high passes, curves and staggering views.
This is also an obvious summer destination.
A long sweeping drive through the mountains and it was a series of panoramas that kept me interested behind the wheel. The road was full of cautions:
You don’t see this in Florida: a snow chain installation spot used in summer as a truck stop. Pretty useful.
We stopped for lunch in what is becoming a pattern by taking a break in a state park with a lake. It was moderately busy it being Sunday but we found our own spot.
Layne had slept badly so she took to her bed and I sat up front with Rusty for company. Before we knew it a sign popped up announcing we had switched states and the fresh pavement meant we were in New Mexico.
New Mexico is not a wealthy state and the difference with Colorado shows.
We came across a roadside stop. The facilities were run down but the natural beauty was quite stunning.
I got to see it all in 92 degree heat. Rusty was feeling unaccountably active. The signboards said this piece of land was close to the equator when the land was a single continent, Pangaea and as the seas receded they left behind layers of colored sediment.
The Echo amphitheater was a pleasant surprise.
We had no idea where to sleep so we checked an Army Corps of Engineers campsite on a lake but even for $12 the sites looked rather bleak and crowded. We moved on. Then we came across another possibility. A little Forest Service parking lot flashed by but was spotted by Layne, nothing much escapes her. We pulled a U- turn and there we were for the night.
It was over 90 degrees so Layne turned on the roof air conditioning and Rusty, still highly energized took off on the trail.
I was pleased to see the photos of Edward Curtis were used in the signboard. He was an extraordinary photographer traveling the West for thirty years starting in 1900 looking for Native Americans. He published twenty volumes of pictures of “The North American Indian” but died unrecognized.
I really enjoyed this unexpected pleasure. Yes it was hot but Rusty scampered up ahead sticking closely to the trail and I followed.
Like so many other of this Pueblo stories we’ve seen on this trip. It was a god spot for a village on a hill overlooking the Chama River in a beautiful spot.
They stored grain in adobe buildings whose foundations are still visible.
You can just about trace the outline in the grass. Around 1500 here as in similar communities something changed and everyone left. No one knows why.
Layne called. It was time for dinner, barbecued pork sandwiches for us and roast chicken and kibbles for him.
Not a lovely wilderness but a nice free spot for the night along the road to Santa Fe.
