Part twenty -one: good ol ‘new Mexico

* Hooooooooo ooook *

The old iron machine let out a strong whistle that resonated in the high country. A few moments later, it appeared around the curve, siseating to the breath of a giant beast.

This was the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic RailroadA narrow caliber relic that was still strong, talent to 64 miles between Antonito, Co and Chama, nm. Crossed the Cumbres pass At more than 10,000 feet, where tired could mark it to take a walk to Chama to resume.

I approached one of the worn passenger cars, all used of wood and echoes from the past, and I saw that the earth was developed from my window while the train slid through the imposing cliffs of Toltec gorge.

Cross to New Mexico That day, it was not my boots that touched the edge, but the steel wheels on an iron track. Even so, the transition felt equally real. Two days later, he would return to that same place and cross the line.

Now there was a calm in me, a quiet type of triumph. The most difficult part was behind me, or so they said. New Mexico would be softereasier for feet. I attended that hope as I looked through the open earth, feeling, for the first time in a time, as it could breathe.

I. Four below, one to go

Thursday, October 10

Masé my backpack and crossed the city, looking for a road back to the path. A car rolled by my side. Jean, an old man, bowed to his window. He told me that he led the mountains of most of the days just to see the earth. He said he gave him peace. He offered me an elevator for peak peaks. I entered and entered silently, the guy you don’t need to fill with words.

While the tires hummed along the way, I looked at the trees, the streams, the birds flash between branches. These sounds, these smells, this world had come to live inside, everyone would become memories soon. One more or more month and would be behind me. I couldn’t imagine what came later, but that’s fine. It wasn’t time yet. He still had a whole state to cross.

Back in El Paso, I started walking. The path was, as expected, friendlier under my feet: soft degrees, soft rolling band. I climbed easily and soon I reached the border of New Mexico. My fist climbed into the air and shouted: «Yes!» Just to listen to it echo through the trees.

One more state. One last chapter. Seven hundred seventy miles for the end. The end did not feel so far now. I felt I could almost touch it.

The earth began to change around me: Greenst faded in gold, Alpine giving way to the edges of the desert. I passed cows spread like puzzle pieces through the earth. I updated with «Korn» again, a surprise for both of us.

«You walked fast today!» He told me. I hadn’t heard that in a while.

The sun slipped behind the trees, throwing long shadows via the dirt road. I entered, enjoying it. Then, all at once, a herd of Ambs crossed the path in front of me, in silence, magnificent. I observed until the last disappeared in the brush.

I arrived at the camp in the dark, the lights of Antonito a slight shine on the horizon. On top, Crescent lit the sky like a flashlight. I was in New Mexico.

The morning came wrapped in cold air and a sky still full of stars. On the horizon, the orange dragged slowly. I went up before dawn. The forest was silent until suddenly, I surprised a herd of Alce in the depths of the forest. They escaped through the trees, making the earth tremble.

Later, on a dirt road, a man in a truck stopped and asked me if «I got something», looking at my camera. I asked what he meant, perplexed. He nodded to the camera. «I thought it was a rifle.» I laughed. «I received some good photos,» I said, jokingly. It is not the guy who meant, but true anyway.

Most of the trees were exposed now, waiting winter. The walk that day was boring, but easy, and I wouldn’t complain. The path wandered for cows pastures where animals looked at me with very broad and uncertain eyes.

Later, an ATV rolled taking a man and his wife. He owned the land for whom he had just walk. He was looking for 60 missing cows and said the rest had already addressed the low country. He gave me a beer and two meat sticks and asked him about cattle prices. I was stunned. «A calf goes for thousands and four hundred. An adult cow, maybe three thousand dollars.» I wished him luck in his search, then I sat in the sun and drank my beer.

Korn catch up while I drank. We walk, jumping to each other. My foot hurt at the end of the day, but I had covered a good terrain. I read tickets to the PCT newspaper, a year ago, twenty -five, even twenty -seven miles. I laughed at that version of myself. This path was wilder, harder, and I was slower.

The night had been good for me. I woke up before the sun, rest and go. Throughout the night, Elk called the darkness, and the geese sang their strange and wild songs. The air was clear, and I moved fast, doing eight miles before nine.

The terrain was very similar to yesterday: open, dry, a little boring, but my foot did not bothered me and that raised my mood. I spent three bikepackers that I met the night before. We change waves. I took a shortcut that shaved a few miles, and with the force I had, I decided to move on, approaching Ghost Ranch.

In the last water source, the bikepackers appeared again, impressed with my rhythm. I will not lie, he felt good. I didn’t need applause, but after fighting for so long on this path, it helped me push a little further.

The shots cracked in the distance as it advanced. Hunters, no doubt. He expected his vision to be good, or his goal was poor.

The landscape opened around me. I spent the bikepackers for the last time, installing the camp next to the path. I kept pressing until I got to a cross and called it well. Now there are only twenty miles to Rancho Ghost. A solid work day.

II. Ghost Ranch

I woke up warm. The type of warm that adheres to the muscles and makes your body move as you want.

The sun came out slowly and soft gold in cattle and dew. I was still waiting for the desert to show itself, but I could feel it coming. It was close now.

I arrived at the Ghost Ranch alternative union and filled over the water. Korn was there. We shared some words, then I continued on the dirt road, I head down, my eyes forward.

Then came the cannon.

A narrow track dovered in red and orange sandstone walls. To my right, Rose A Great Wall, the same had half seen in the Bob Marshall desert a few months ago, but in the style of New Mexico. He had finally reached the desert. And somehow, he felt like returning home.

Cactus and sage, orange and sand cliffs under the feet. I arrived at Ghost Ranch, a spiritual retirement center, in the afternoon. I registered and wandered the land. They had filmed some of my favorite movies here, Silverado, 3:10 to Yuma, Hostiles, Oppenheimer. Georgia O’Keeffe, famous American painter, had called her home once.

I settled in the camp. Korn rolled shortly after. We both take shows, wash our worn clothes and then sit down to dinner with an Australian woman who had made the PCT and came here for a workshop.

I fell with tacos and cookies, when the sun fell behind the red stone.

Now I was in New Mexico. And the border was calling.