Day Three: Eagle Nest, N.M., to Taos, N.M.
Miles covered: 78 miles
After battling storms the day before, we left Eagle Nest early and rode the long way to Taos through the resort towns of Red River and Qwesta.
A highway ring surrounds Taos Mountain. It’s called the Enchanted Circle. Since some of the roads were under construction, we only rode about two-thirds of the way; so we actually experienced the Enchanted Semi-Circle.
Along the way, we stopped by the Wild Rivers Recreation Area and hiked down close to the bank of the Rio Grande. We reached Taos around noon.
Taos is sort of like Branson, Mo., except instead of clean Christian family entertainment, it’s populated old hippies who paint pictures, blow glass and create sculptures. It has a main drag through town, U.S. Highway 64, and a plaza section where you can purchase over-priced paintings or overpriced “I (heart) Taos” t-shirts. I liked it immediately.
The other thing that struck me about Taos is that everybody seems to be environmentally conscience. But that doesn’t explain the litter everywhere. There is trash strewn everywhere.
Anyway, we found a hotel room at the Super 8, but the wireless internet didn’t work. I couldn’t file a blog entry, so I apologize to the people reading this travelogue.
After dropping off our luggage in the hotel rooms, we ate nachos at a forgettable Mexican joint, then did some shopping in the plaza area (my wife‘s idea; got to get the grandkids t-shirts). I flirted with the idea of purchasing a pair of fringed Minnetonka moccasins, but the $70 price tag turned me off.
After shopping -- then downing a couple of beers at the Alley Cantina --we rode out to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, supposed to be the fifth highest bridge in the United States. Not sure what the other four are (I’ll leave that for you to Google) but this one was pretty impressive. I’m not usually scared of heights, but I felt edgy standing on the bridge and looking down.
That night, we ate Shadow’s Lounge & Grill, went to the Taos Inn and returned to the Alley Cantina where a supposedly great band named the “Monkey Feeders” (the audience are the monkey and the band was feeding us) were playing.
Unfortunately, the band was not great, the beers were expensive and warm, and the old hippie dancing all by himself at the front of the room gave me 70s flashbacks.
We called it a night.