Bike Odyssey 2014 – Day 17 (Monday June 2) – From the Dawg to the Queen

I first came to New Mexico 30 years ago, to play poker (in a private game, not a casino one), and fell in love with the state. (I didn’t lose in the card games, which put me in a friendly frame of mind.) It’s my favorite state of the union. Desert has its own charm, but New Mexico is different – there’s a sublime sacredness somehow inscribed in the landscape. And then there’s Santa Fe, unique among great cities of the world in its architectural continuity – low adobe structures everywhere – and in respect of its relation to its environment. It says, Do not, even for one second, look at what I am. Look at where I am. Many cities have spectacular settings. None is as modest in this regard as Santa Fe.

On the road north to Taos, we pulled in at the Old Dawg cafe, a crumbling structure which proved to contain local people only (as you’d guess from the exterior), an astonishing mural (you’d never guess) and the best Mexican food either of us had ever eaten. More than that, it was the only Mexican food I’d ever eaten – including in Mexico – that deserved the title of a cuisine. Lip-numbing green chilis, in a league of their own. This was the experience Joe and I are looking for – not gourmet food or even great meals but simply the unexpected. More than any other reason for our companionability is the fact that neither of us cares for sight-seeing; we like to soak in the place; and we like to ride. I have friends who really know the city they live in, they know where the best new chef is; they use the city. I have never developed such knowledge or even an interest in it. For me a city is the barely definable feeling (varying, and encapsulating each city) I get when I sit and watch its people, or walk its sidewalks. Surprising conversations. Sometimes, surprising food.

The Mabel Dodge Luhan house exceeded all expectation. I’d rank it among the dozen most desirable houses I’ve ever seen. (And I’m very covetous where houses are concerned. I don’t want to live in any of them – I just want to dream about what it would be like.) The outside of Queen Mabel’s folly is perfect adobe wish-fulfilment, full of tree-shaded nooks, a sweet stream running beneath the steps that lead up to the house – for which the magnificent Taos mountain provides the view. And indoors! Tiled floors, wonderful wooden pillars and panelling, the most gracious kind of comfort set in the starkest landscape. Judy Gentry, one of the receptionists, showed us around, offered us cookies, water, coffee… a magical castle to crown this wonderful region.

America the strange: the filling station near our campsite features a shop that sells no beer. It sells everything else such stores sell and, as the manager was quick to tell me, it is the only filling station store of its kind in America. The reason? Its owner is a Muslim. But that’s only the beginning of the strangeness, the manager (a 30-ish man of Middle Eastern origin) continued eagerly. Look at this, he went on, pointing to a vitrine full of crack pipes for sale. With the owner’s knowledge, I asked? The manager nodded. There’s other stuff too, he said, darkly. Why? How? The manager shook his head, as baffled as I was. So: a crack (and ‘other stuff’) accessory-selling motorway station, which stocks no beer. Beat that.