Where were all the rocks? Credit the geology for that.
It was strange to think that I had all this to myself, while just a few miles away in Abiquiu, the tourists were burning up in the heat to see the standard things. Perhaps a place like Coyote NM lacks the cachet they are looking for.
The topography was perfect for mountain biking, albeit backwards. When you camp at 9200 feet, you will usually have to start a ride going downhill -- not what is desirable. But in a heat wave, what else can you do? So smooth was this "road." It felt funny to have the grass tickling my bare leg.
I really hoped this road didn't crap off on me, because it would be a long push/walk back up the hill. It is the buggy season, June, if you think that the southwest ever gets buggy. But it is also the season for big yellow-and-black swallowtail (?) butterflies.
We came upon two herds of youngish elk cows. I thought elks were supposed to "bugle." Their sound was more indignant and higher-pitched. Can ungulates ululate?
Surely I wasn't still on an official road! And then, just like that, we popped out onto a main through-road. Now at least, I knew where I was. I felt relief for a couple minutes, but then felt that evil urge to try something that wasn't so straightforward, such as an unmarked dirt road that appeared to climb back to the high elevation of my campsite.
And then this new road started crapping off, as we climbed out of the ponderosa pines and into the hideously thick spruce and fir. It was a "sinking" feeling as I ascended. But then that perfect moment came, as it has, so often: the exquisite feeling of knowing that you are almost lost; of looking for signs of a continuing road, but feeling that these signs are only imaginary. The real world has left you.
For the benefit of new readers, there is a quote I like to whip out here, from "Five Stages of Greek Religion," by the classicist, Gilbert Murray.
The Uncharted surrounds us on every side and we must needs have some some relation towards it...
As far as knowledge and conscious reason will go, we should follow resolutely their austere guidance. When they cease, as cease they must, we must use as best we can those fainter powers of apprehension and surmise and sensitiveness by which, after all, most high truth has been reached as well as most high art and poetry; careful always really to seek for truth and not for our own emotional satisfaction, careful not to neglect the real needs of men and women through basing our life on dreams; and remembering above all else to walk gently in a world where the lights are dim and the very stars wander.
There is no better physical representation of these thoughts of Murray's than getting lost in a thick forest, on a waning trail.
I had to surrender and backtrack, and then take the straightforward road, up, up...
I had brought plenty of water, and my dog was doing her duty of sipping some. You can only get so hot when riding between 8000 and 9000 feet, in the morning, and mostly in the shade. But I thought of the heat wave that was baking the entire Southwest, and the news stories about hikers croaking in Arizona.
Then we encountered what I have never encountered before:
If only I had been a newbie and gotten desperately thirsty before seeing this. Still, my dog, Coffee Girl, honored the occasion by wading into the water -- something she seldom does -- and having a good long drink.
It reminded me that soon I'll cross over into Colorado, with its over-rated mountains, traffic, and tourists. But every year it is worth it, just to experience the miracle of running water.