Churches, Art, and a Musical Road: A Day on the Turquoise Trail

Before my day on the Turquoise Trail even began, I stumbled across one of the most unexpected things I’ve ever found on Route 66—a musical road! For about a quarter of a mile, special rumble strips play America the Beautiful as you drive over them at the speed limit. The first time, I was almost through it before I realized what I was hearing. Since the original signs marking the spot have been removed, I turned around and drove it again. Then I drove it a third time with the windows down, the A/C off, and my tires right on the rumble strips. Perfetto! The first time I ever experienced a musical road was during my years in Japan, so I was delighted to stumble upon one in Albuquerque.

You pick up the Turquoise Trail in Tijeras on the east side of Albuquerque. It’s a scenic byway (NM- 14) that runs from Albuquerque to Santa Fe through the Sandia Mountains. Native Americans mined turquoise here as far back as A.D. 900. Later, settlers also mined the area, giving the trail the name it still carries today.

I had barely started my drive when I saw the top of an old church with a small white cross against the blue sky. I just had to stop and take a look. Three people sat at a picnic table in front of the church having a snack. It turned out that they had spent the morning working on upkeep on the cemetery. I’m sure it was already close to 90 degrees, but they didn’t seem to mind the heat. They told me a little about the church, about the best place to eat along the Turquoise Trail, and about some other old churches along the way.

The San Antonio Mission Church, also known as Nuestro Señor de Mapimí Church, was built in 1886. It’s a small adobe church with a single white cross and has changed very little over the years. It wasn’t open, so I could only look at the outside and the grounds, but I was so glad that I stopped. It was just a quick look and a brief conversation with three strangers, but their warmth stayed with me as I continued on my way.

I drove on, following their directions to the next church about ten miles up the road. For this church, I had to wind up a little gravel road to the top of a hill. I would have driven right past it if not for their directions.. San Francisco de Asis Catholic Church was built in the 1830s to serve the miners and families of the first gold rush west of the Mississippi. To reach the church, I walked through a gate and along a path that meandered through a cemetery dotted with weathered wooden crosses. It felt wonderfully secluded. After the gold rush ended, the town gradually became a ghost town, and the church was abandoned before being rebuilt in 1960.

The next town on the trail was Madrid (pronounced Maa-drid), where the movie Wild Hogs was filmed. Until I talked with the church volunteers, I had no idea this was the town from the movie.

Madrid was such an artsy and quirky town. I had lunch at the Mine Shaft Tavern and wandered through several art galleries meeting and visiting with the artists in many of them. I was in a little bit of “hog” heaven.

One gallery featured the work of seven artists who are all friends, the youngest of whom is seventy-five. I think if I lived in this area, I would want to hang out with them. I left feeling so energized and inspired.

After I left Madrid, I lost my GPS connection and had to make the rest of the trip on my own. Lucky for me, it’s just a straight shot through to Santa Fe, but it was an unusual feeling to be completely on my own. I was reminded of traveling in my twenties with just an atlas and a general idea of where I was going. It felt kind of freeing to trust my instincts while following the directions of the people at the church to the next church in Cerrillos.

St. Joseph’s Catholic Church was established in 1884, but the current church was built in 1922. This time, the church was open. The historic artwork and stained glass were just beautiful. Most of the sculptures inside had a very Spanish and rustic feel. Outside there was an enclosed garden with a Pieta and other sculptures. The church is still active today.

The town of Cerrillos is a fun stop because it has an old west feel with dusty, dirt roads and an old, weathered hotel. During its heyday, it had 21 saloons and 4 hotels and was once considered a possible capital of New Mexico.

I drove on to Santa Fe and was pretty exhausted from all of the sightseeing in the heat. Even though I brought plenty of water, I felt dehydrated, so I headed home. All in all, a great day! There were still places I missed, but maybe that’s the beauty of a road like this. It gives me a reason to return.

Not Every Place Is Meant to Steal Your Heart

Every morning, right at sunrise, I step out into a backyard that doesn’t look anything like the ones I was used to in Texas.

No grass. Just gravel, a stucco wall, cacti, flowering plants, a couple of trees, and a turquoise lounge chair waiting for the first rays of the morning sun.

Somewhere along the way, it has become my favorite place in Albuquerque.

Which is funny, because Albuquerque itself hasn’t quite stolen my heart.

And that’s been surprisingly hard to admit. Usually, by now, I’ve found a favorite coffee shop, a neighborhood I love wandering, or a place that keeps calling me back for one more visit.

I’ve always been drawn to places with little downtowns to explore, coffee shops where conversations happen naturally, colorful art districts, scenic drives, and streets that make me want to keep wandering long after I planned to head home.

Albuquerque hasn’t been that place for me. Between the summer heat and the slower pace, I’ve found myself spending much more time at home than I expected—and, at first, more than I wanted.

But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After months of constantly exploring, driving, and moving from one place to the next, perhaps I needed a little downtime more than I realized.

The mornings, though, have quietly become my favorite part of the day.

For the past two and a half weeks, I’ve been outside by six o’clock, stretching in the first light of the day and savoring temperatures in the sixties, knowing that within a couple of hours they’ll climb into the nineties.

I sit on the turquoise lounger and soak in the sunshine while it is still low in the sky. I watch the hot air balloons float over the neighborhood and wonder if I would be brave enough to challenge my fear of heights in one. Then I water the mismatched collection of flowering pots and the raised bed filled with basil and rosemary, breathing in their fragrance as I look through the gate toward the green grass of the park beyond.

Soon I’m out for my walk.

Some mornings I’d rather linger in the backyard, but I know if I wait, the cool air will disappear. Every morning I notice something I somehow missed the day before—a sunflower that opened overnight, the way the light catches the tops of the cacti, a gate with a metal roadrunner, or a tiny bloom tucked into a corner of the garden.

I love that this rhythm has become second nature. Just something I do every day. I’m not walking as far as I did in Colorado, but between my walks and time at the gym, I’m moving every day and feeling stronger.

And this routine is such a peaceful way to start the day.

I may never fall in love with Albuquerque the way I have with some of the other places I’ve visited this year.

But I think I’ll always remember this backyard at sunrise.