So, I am on the road again after a three-week visit with my son and his family. I am heading out for about three months with stays in Colorado and New Mexico. I’m really excited because I haven’t been in Colorado for about 25 years and the longest I had ever stayed was about a week. This time, I will be there for five weeks! As I started out on this trip, my heart was full from time with my grandsons and the previous month with my mom.
My first stop on this trip was a short visit with my sister who lives near Dallas. Time with people I love has become so precious to me. We didn’t do anything elaborate, just some shopping and lunch, and then a dinner with her and my niece. Even though the visit was brief, being with my sister feels restorative and grounding.
From there, I headed toward Palo Duro Canyon State Park to see the “Grand Canyon of Texas,” the second-largest canyon in the country. A large, dark cloud hung low in the distance and before too long, I found myself driving along the edge of it. I hoped I would get past the storm and find sunny skies, but the dark cloud faded into a sky that was completely overcast.
Driving through the flat stretch of the Texas Panhandle, everything feels wide open and almost unchanging—and then, almost without warning, the land drops away. Pulling into Palo Duro Canyon State Park, it feels like stumbling onto something unexpected. The canyon opens up in layers of red and orange, stretching out farther than you think it will. It’s quiet in a way that’s hard to describe—no rush, no noise, just space. I noticed how the canyon looked a little different every few minutes. Almost as soon as I arrived, the rain began.
What stayed with me most wasn’t just how big it is, but how steady it feels. There’s something grounding about being there, like the canyon has been doing its thing for a very long time and doesn’t need anything from you. I stood there, taking it in—the stillness, the openness, the feeling of being small in a good way. It’s the kind of place that gently reminds you to be present, without forcing it.
Then it was on to a quick stop at the Cadillac Ranch. This is something I’ve wanted to see if I were ever passing through—and here I am. I really didn’t know much about it—just that there were old Cadillacs nose down in the ground that had been painted.
Seeing it in person was even more fun than I expected. The cars are completely covered in layers upon layers of spray paint, and people were out there adding their own colors and messages, so of course I added a little paint of my own too. Even though it was 42 degrees with a light rain, there was a connection with the other visitors. We shared cans of spray paint, took photos of each other with the cars, and laughed with a group of four men on motorcycles who were out in that unexpected weather. Those brief connections with strangers make my time on the road feel a little more connected.
I later learned the installation was created back in 1974 by an art group called Ant Farm, and the Cadillacs are buried at the same angle as the pyramids of Giza, which somehow makes the whole thing even quirkier. What I liked most was that it isn’t meant to stay the same—the artwork is constantly changing with every traveler who stops by.
My day of travel ended with an overnight stay in Trinidad, Colorado, and dinner at a Tex-Mex restaurant that was a little different from the Tex-Mex I’m used to.
After a bit of sightseeing the next morning, I started the drive toward Arvada, where I’ll be staying for the next couple of weeks.
By the time I reached that stretch of the trip, it felt like this first leg had already given me more than I expected—time with people I love, a reminder to slow down, and a few moments of quiet that seem to stay with you long after you leave. Not a bad way to begin three months on the road.
