Girls Trip!

As a Mother's Day gift to myself, I escaped El Paso with a couple of friends on a turn and burn to Santa Fe for a girls' rafting trip.  I was a little anxious at first.  It's still a bit of an adjustment to dip out on the family, and it was also my first time really getting to know one of the women I was with.  I needn't have worried.  The family survived my absence, and both of my companions were simply phenomenal.

Fun backstory tangent--originally there were only going to be two of us, but then we opted to invite a third (and we are so glad we did).  My friend's husband had been dubious about us going "unsupervised" (he thinks I am a bad influence on his wife--I'm roughly 90% sure he's joking) and was relieved when we told him about the third friend we'd invited. He said something to the effect of "Good.  She's responsible and will keep you two out of trouble." Imagine my delight when I found out on the drive our "responsible" chaperone was getting her motorcycle permit the next week and going skydiving later this summer.  Even typing this weeks later I have a very satisfied smirk about the whole situation.

Anyway, we found our way to Santa Fe with no issues except for a lost wallet.  We have absolutely no idea what happened to it.  It could only possibly have been at one of two places; we called both and drove back to the closest one, but no dice, which sucks.  (It was never found.)  The wallet was the only blight on an otherwise great trip.

After five hours of conversation and snacks, we were ready to stretch our legs.  We considered hiking Tent Rocks National Monument (look it up, it looks totally wicked), but it's on Cochiti Pueblo and requires two sets of reservations and exorbitant fees that we weren't willing to wrangle on short notice.  We opted for Bandelier National Monument instead.  All day we'd been watching a storm build on the horizon with growing concern; it broke as we checked in to Bandelier.  (In a strangely literary twist, it was also at this time that we discovered the missing wallet.) We persisted despite being almost immediately drenched by the fat raindrops.  In retrospect, it probably wasn't the smartest decision--the trails we picked involved steep climbs and multiple slick wood ladders--but, dang it, we were out for an adventure and an adventure we would have.  We soggily pressed on, taking only a brief respite in a cliff dwelling with a half-dozen other hikers who had also been caught in the rain.  Fortunately Someone took pity on us and our stubbornness and the rain tapered off a little over half an hour later. (Not, coincidentally, before the first of the ladders.  But we lived.)

I need a new pose for pictures.  What a dork.

The view from inside.

Some of our fellow refugees from the rain.

No health problems, and as for heights...we just didn't look down.

It was gorgeous.  Sunlight slanting through the pines, trees steaming after the rain, and a view of the canyon from a native site 130 feet up the canyon wall. Fresh rain, great company, cool history and no broken ankles--it doesn't get much better than that. 

It was steep and tilted to the left.  Luckily it was bolted firmly to the rock and had had a chance to dry off a little.

The third of four ladders.

Though we considered taking a selfie with the sign, we behaved ourselves and stayed on the safer side of the rail like totally responsible adults.

 Amped and ready for dinner, we returned to Santa Fe. Now, Santa Fe was...okay.  For a state capitol, I wasn't super impressed.  When we got back from hiking and checking the rest stop for the wallet, it was about 8 o'clock and most of the restaurants were closing by 9--on a Friday.  We settled for one of the few local restaurants open.  It was edible, but not great.  Our hotel was a hipstery little place that was half-renovated and could have used a bigger parking lot, but for $85 a night and clean sheets, it was still a steal.

The lobby ceiling of the hotel.

The next day we were up bright and early for breakfast burritos and a drive towards our meetup with New Mexico Rafting Adventures.  We weren't entirely sure what to expect.  Two of us had rafted once, several years before, and not on the Rio Grande.  We were spooked a little and overpacked in case the river was frostier than intended.

It was.  I opted not to use the wet suit, and the first wave that washed over the side of the raft was...refreshing, which is a nice way of saying it was freaking cold and I might have yelped a little as I was doused from toe to thigh.  Luckily my companions were a bit smarter than me and had taken the wetsuits.   As for me, it was too late to change my mind so I just whimpered quietly to myself and carried on.  My feet quickly went numb, so between that, paddling through the rapids and our guide's informative chatter about the local history and geology I was distracted from my self-inflicted discomfort.

Between rapids we got to see petroglyphs and New Mexico Slow Elk (just cows of the normal mooing variety, but the guide thought he was very clever).  After our last and biggest rapid, we were given the option to get off the raft and float for a bit.  The guide thumped the river bottom with his paddle to prove that it was only about four feet deep.  My friends and I were the only ones to take him up on his offer.  We slid off the raft.  Now, this was the Rio Grande, not the 35 degree snow-fed Nenana, but I also wasn't wearing a dry suit and that 50 degree water was more than enough to make me question my life choices and send me scrambling back towards the raft.  However, as I was thrashing back to better decisions, I noticed one of my friends drifting happily downstream and I was shamed into staying in the water.  Besides, my other friend had jumped in just as the river deepened unexpectedly and inhaled a noseful of frigid water; by the time the guide had hauled her into the boat I had gone comfortably numb.  I pointed my toes, leaned back in my vest, and let the river carry me onward.

Decapitation Bridge, which was fortunately higher than it looked.

To be honest, I wasn't really looking forward to getting back in the raft anyway. It hadn't been a great experience the last time--hauled unceremoniously up and dumped in the bottom of the raft, left to try to flip myself over like some stranded turtle, scrabbling on the wet rubber and face planting multiple times while everyone else stared helpfully.  This time wasn't much better.  When it was time to get back in, the guide grabbed the straps of my life jacket and hefted me mostly into the raft.  I say "mostly" because he dropped me belly-first on the bottom of the boat, my legs canted above my head on the slick side of the raft; it took some awkward and frankly embarrassing flailing to get me back right-side up in my seat.  When it was my turn to pull my friend in, I made sure to pull her up enough that she could get her legs under her and was spared the wretched turtle flail experience.  I'm a gentleman like that.

After we changed into dry clothes, we took our guide's advice and headed a half-hour north to Taos for tacos.  We stopped by an unimpressive little restaurant with a view of the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the best Mexican food I've had in a long while.  The entire dining room was hazy.  As soon as we were seated, I started coughing. Water didn't help.  I couldn't figure out what was going on until one of our neighboring tables had their meal brought out, and then we saw the culprit: a plate of sizzling, scorched--and smoking--chilies.  Everything was suddenly clear (metaphorically). We'd basically been pepper sprayed from the moment we stepped in. It was totally worth it.  Our young and very competent waiter (he was the only one working tables) gave some top-notch suggestions and we all left very satisfied.

Taos was a very nice little town--a little touristy, but honestly also better maintained because of the tourists.  If I could do the trip over, I'd have just stayed in Taos.  We didn't stop to sight-see (we did still have a six hour drive home) but we did drive out to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge.  Standing roughly 600 above the Rio Grande, it's the seventh-highest bridge in the U.S.  It was pretty neat.  There are sidewalks on either side of the bridge for pedestrians (which was smart because drivers just speed right across).  There is a hiking trail along one ridge, and a guy was in the parking lot selling "real turquoise" jewelry that was just a little too affordable to be authentic.  We were also unfortunately not allowed to drop anything off the bridge.  It wasn't really something I had considered until I saw the sign forbidding it, but after that it took some effort not to pocket one of the rocks from the parking lot and fling it into the middle of the gorge.

The drive home was unremarkable but perfect.  We talked about raising kids, adventures we wanted to take, fears about ourselves, experiences with our faith, and so much more; when the conversation lagged (as it will after 24 straight hours with the same people and not enough sleep) a couple of conversation card prompts got it flowing again.  10/10 recommend. 

So what's the takeaway? As hard as it is to take me-time as a mom, it is soooooooo good.  Emotionally, mentally, physically...it's good all around.  I wish we could have spent a little more time in Taos.  There's a lot to see--the Taos Pueblo, one of the oldest most continuously inhabited pueblos in the country; the eco-friendly earthship houses; Black Rocks Hot Springs; hiking, rafting, national parks, and of course the little downtown full of shops, artist galleries, and an old mission church. Even though I would have loved to do more, we did enough.  It was good to connect with a couple of really incredible women and have an adventure together.  We all need a little more of that.

So go do it.  Just bring extra socks.

This ancient relic was a pleasant surprise.