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We once again left the ridge and somehow—without really meaning to—ended up in a state I’d never put on my “must-see” list. Honestly, I’d never even put it on my “meh, why not?” list. New Mexico just wasn’t on my radar. After all, it’s tucked between Texas—where desert plains, BBQ joints, and western décor have already infiltrated my living room—and Arizona, with its Grand Canyon grandeur, cactus-meets-pine forests, and more turquoise jewelry than a Cracker Barrel gift shop.
And yet, there we were, rolling out of Taos, waving goodbye to pueblo architecture and chili pepper garlands. Instead of sticking to the interstate like sensible people, we took a diagonal back road that cut across the whole state like somebody had taken a Sharpie to the map. That “shortcut” ended up being more like a sampler platter of Mother Nature’s wildest experiments: one minute you’re in a forest of evergreens, the next you’re barreling toward red clay cliffs, and then—bam—endless high plains desert. It was like New Mexico couldn’t decide if it wanted to be Colorado, Utah, or Mars, so it just said “Yes.”
The sky was just as indecisive, serving up a rotating exhibit of cloud formations. On the ridge, our “views” end about 80 feet out, courtesy of trees, hills, and the occasional nosy hawk. But out here? You get the kind of sky that makes you point and ask, “Does that look like Snoopy to you, or did I just inhale too many chili peppers at lunch?”
One thing’s for sure: the next time we’re out west, New Mexico is officially on the itinerary. Which is saying something—because until now, I’d thought the most exciting thing about it was whether Bugs Bunny should have taken that left turn in Albuquerque.