After Arizona

I’m still in California. Unfortunately, after the first few days, our neighbors decided to leave town and turn off their internet. This left me with nothing to steal. Selfish, selfish people. Anyway, I’m currently sitting in a Starbucks trying to figure out a flight situation that was supposed to be already figured out. So in the midst of my frustration at the ineptness of the majority of the airline industry, I’ll reminisce some more on the drive that brought me out here.

After Jerome, I finally decided to make my way to Palm Desert:

All of this driving finally landed me here:

Jerome, Arizona

When I drive, I try to take side roads as much as possible. After hours on straight, never-ending highways, slightly inconvenient detours become more than welcome. I took one of these detours once I hit the vicinity of Flagstaff, Arizona. Instead of continuing on with my GPS’s recommended route, I veered down to Sedona via 89A South. Once through Sedona, the mecca of crystals and healing vortexes, I continued on, not knowing what to expect. After some miles, I found myself on a narrow, two-lane road heading up the side of a mountain. It was the kind of road that terrified me as a child. As an adult, (mostly) in control of my car, the fear was far removed.

Somewhere up this mountain road, buildings began to appear. The buildings soon formed a small town, overlooking the vast valley below. The town was Jerome, Arizona.

I parked my car, wandered around, snapped some photos, and talked with a few of the locals.

I learned that Jerome was established as a mining town in the late 1800s. It soon became a stereotypical Wild West town, complete with outlaws and prostitution. In fact, it was dubbed by a New York newspaper as the “wickedest town in the West”. In 1917, some of the miners went on strike, and the mine owners retaliated by rounding up the suspected troublemakers and deporting them out of town. Despite this deportation, multiple fires, and the subsequent mishandling of these situations by the mine owners, the population of Jerome continued to grow. However, in the 1930s, the price of copper dropped drastically and the mines were soon mined out. In the 1960s, Jerome was designated a Historic District.

Today, a little over 300 people call Jerome home. It receives a decent amount of tourism, but due to its precarious location, this number is kept under control. To me, the city still felt authentic, and I’m very picky about my “tourist destinations” feeling real.

The House of Joy was once a brothel, then a nationally-recognized restaurant. It is now a museum.

Taos Ski Valley, New Mexico

Following Colorado, my travels took me down to New Mexico. New Mexico was new to me, and I was overly excited when I actually realized this. I love mentally crossing off new destinations, even when that destination is in my own country. Also, because of this, I had no idea what to really expect out of a ski hill in New Mexico. It probably would have helped if I took 30 seconds to research the area the night before, but on road trips (and in life), I can’t say I plan my stops very thoroughly. Instead, while driving, I opened up a snow app on my phone and quickly determined where the weather looked promising. I decided on Taos.

When I was approximately 1 hour away, I called my mom and asked her to look up hotels. She’s used to me, so she obliged, most likely while rolling her eyes. She called back, and I decided on the Powderhorn. It claimed quick lift access, which is all I really wanted. However, upon check-in, I was very pleasantly surprised. Not only was the hotel completely convenient to everything, it also featured very friendly and helpful staff, a fireplace, a kitchen, and views of the mountain. I had to force myself not to hibernate over the two night-stay.

There’s a reason why I like Montana so much, and Taos has some of that same appeal. Colorado ski areas are very convenient, but a good amount of them are situated right along the interstate. This makes access easy, but you lose some of what makes being in the mountains great. Big Sky and Taos both feel like you’re away from the outside world. In each town, you drive along a two lane road to eventually land in a little oasis between peaks. I dig this. Furthermore, the locals in Taos were nice and accommodating. I was shown the highlights of the village within minutes of arriving at a local bar by myself.

The skiing isn’t too shabby either. I challenged myself on some of the steepest runs I have ever attempted. The snow was great, and the lift lines were minimal. I was feeling all confident about my successful day on the mountain, when the universe decided to knock me down a notch. Literally. I completely ate it while walking to dinner on my last night. My right butt cheek is boasting a mural of swirling blues, greens, and yellows that honestly belongs in a modern art museum. Either that, or a meditation center. I hear blue is calming.

I learned in Taos that this is exactly the kind of press they don’t want. So, all-in-all, Taos was awful. Don’t go there (wink, wink). Save it all for the poor souls who have to work and play in this mountain sanctuary. However, just to double-check this assessment, I’ll probably make a return trip in the near future.

Places I went:

Martini Tree Bar: Cool locals that are willing to talk to tourists and show them around. Fun après spot, as well.

St. Bernard: Cosy bar. Apparently, it’s also a great place to eat, but I didn’t make it there for lunch or dinner. I believe dinner is usually only open to hotel guests.

The Bavarian: Great on-the-mountain spot for food and beer. It’s located at the bottom of lift 4.