The West is still wild.
On one two mile stretch of road, there were 10 road killed deer. Big ones, not Golden Retriever size like Alabamian deer.
Highways are segmented by cattle guards intended to keep cattle in certain districts. Some herds are free ranging, others break out of their fenced ranges and are only rounded up yearly. Driving can be a full contact sport.
They're not exaggerating!
This Hereford seemed to be hiding, waiting to jump out in front of me.
Passed a 20 member herd of elk.
Finally, I was getting closer to Chaco Canyon National Monument. 75 miles from modern civilization... Only 13 more miles of rutted, washboard dirt roads.
Nothing around but cattle and abandoned houses. This one got my attention.
Chaco Canyon is located in the Northwest corner of New Mexico. Starting in 850 AD, the canyon became the cultural center of Puebloan culture. Until 1200 AD, the region was the hub of trade between tribes and the center for ceremonies. The Chacoan had already mastered astronomy, geometry and masonry. And one lost sailor called Columbus thought he'd discovered a primitive land!
The canyon couldn't support a large population due to the ruggedness of the land which didn't lend itself well to agriculture. Archeologists believe that Chaco was a hub for religion and government with a constant small population and the capacity for the influx of huge numbers of pilgrims and traders.
The canyon is a sacred place to Chacoan decendants, Hopi, Zuni, Acoma, among others. Dogs are not permitted to enter the ruins, understandably. I was not disappointed because our run gave me the best views of the canyon, how perfectly aligned the buildings were, how straight the Chacoan roads in the canyon.
Over 9 miles of rugged terrain, sheer drop offs. No, Cole wasn't allowed to chase rabbits off the edge of mesas.
Photos don't do it justice. An utter sense of awe is felt with every view.
There is something magical about the canyon. Only once before have I had a deep feeling of belonging, a real connection with a place. When I was on a solo hiking trip in Northern Ireland a few years ago, the majesty and history of places can invade you.
I saw only a handful of other people, none atop the mesas. The rangers live on the premises due to its isolated location and due to the fact that the park is often unreachable after rains making the roads impassible.
This picture was taken before Cole panicked and wedged himself sideways in the crevice.
OK, you may need to take my word for it, but the petroglyphs were incredible. They used them to document their lives, but also to chart the equinoxes.
It was hard to leave.
Seeing it at dusk was a once in a lifetime experience.
I managed to drive to Bloomfield to crash for the night. I wandered into the agricultural fairgrounds looking for a place to camp. The security guard allowed me to park for free on the banks of the San Juan River. The grounds were locked up at 10 PM and only reopened at 6 AM. I was snug as a bug being the only one on a hundred acres.
At sunrise, I left to tour some more in the beautiful Four Corners area.
