I almost bypassed Taos. I was on the tail end of a two week excursion into Colorado's high country, a sweeping sensory overload of neon yellow aspen, hot springs and visits with dear friends. Dulce, VAN-essa and I, on the road. It was the first road trip since BC (before covid). The novelty-loving, risk-taking adventurer was back, on the cusp of my 72nd birthday. Taos had always been part of the plan. I'd been hellbent to visit Grandmother Tree for three years (BC). Ten days on the road, all had unfolded perfectly as I pulled into the remote San Luis Lakes, two hours north of Taos, and parked. I made a cup of camp stove espresso as Dulce and I took in the dune-framed Sangre de Cristos; listened to the migrating Sand Hill Cranes, too high to see. Bialetti stowed, we hopped into VAN-essa and she wouldn't start. AAA towed us to Alamosa, where I ended up with a referred mechanic (thank you Crestone Dan). He's really good and really busy, he warned. The angels were with me ... Jeff thankfully agreed to fit me in and let me spend the night in his parking lot while the fuel pump was overnighted. Twenty fours and $900 later (ouch), I hit Highway 285, skipping Taos to head for Bosque del Apache, south of Albuquerque. I'd lost two days and there were too many Taos friends to squeeze visits into a day. I decided I would come back another time. Reality set in, however, as Antonia Mountain came into view. I had to stop somewhere for the night. I wasn't in the mood for Ojo Hotsprings, and Lee's Taos invitation still stood. I turned east toward Taos Mountain. Lee and I had a heartfelt, albeit short, visit. I departed early the next morning for Grandmother Tree as Lee reminded me: She is waiting for you.
|Dulce downloading Grandmother's energy|