Wednesday, Alamosa, CO to Abiquiu, New Mexico to Moab, Utah

If you copy and paste the link below it will take you to pics of our trip.

http://picasaweb.google.com/jnshoop/62109IowaTrip02?authkey=Gv1sRgCLzw48mGo6yhJA&feat=directlink

Randy has had an interest in our family genealogy and has traced back the Garcia line to this aged town. He has traced it back through Catholic Church records that show Ben was born here. The records show that his parents like many of the people that populated the area were a mix of Mexicans of Spanish descent as well as the Native American tribes, the Apache and the Navajo. I believe that exact confirmation would only be established through a DNA test. Our first stop was at the ruins of a church by the name of La Santa Rosa DeLima. We couldn’t stop next to it so we parked the car and walked back. I’ll do a little internet research and fill in the blanks.

We stopped at the grocery store to buy some soft drinks and asked the directions to the local parish. The most recent parish, the one presently in use is called St. Thomas Apostle Parish. We were directed across the street and up the hill. Just above the road and behind some bushes an old part of the town opened up and of course was a place for tourist information. I knocked at the door and an older distinguished looking gentleman opened the door. He introduced himself as Napolean Garcia. He had lived in a Abiquiu his entire life, as his forefathers had. He was about 74 years old.

He gave us a little history on the area: It was established on the site of an old Indian pueblo in the mid-18th century. It became a settlement of Spaniards and Genizaros (Hispanicized Indians). In 1776, explorers Fray Francisco, Ataancio Dominguez, and Silvestre Velez de Escalante visited here. In 1839 the settlement became one of the stops
on the Spanish Trail that linked Sante Fe with Los Angeles, California..

He showed us a book that he had that listed the first settlers in the area. There were a few Garicas in the mix. I took pictures of the book.

It was easy to see what had attracted different groups of people to the area; it was an oasis in an otherwise very dry land. When you follow Rio Chama it is lush and green. Being in the river bottom there were ample opportunities to grow the produce that was needed. I would imagine any excess could be sold or traded to people traveling through the area.

I can’t say as I felt a connection with the area, but I did understand more the hardships that my ancestors had gone through and why Ben’s parents may have wanted to move.

We drove on to Four Corners past Ship Rock out one of those types of roads where they don’t spend too much money on mileage signs or highway signs. You’re basically going down this road that is getting worse and worse and you’re unsure where you’re going for miles on end. I expected it to turn into a gravel road and only hoped that they gave us some warning before we plunged headlong into Grand Canyon. I’m not saying I was nervous; it’s just that I could feel my sphincter muscle doing flip-flops whenever I had my eyes open.

You can see seemingly for thousands of miles and off visible in the distance is a house perched on a hill. Soon you come to a rutted dirt road that branches off the highway towards the house. The people must have lived there for generations because you can see the ‘migration of affluence’ with the newness of the houses. There are always at least three time periods represented in about a 150 foot area; it start with a broken down small little house that may be of dirt, logs, or boards as siding. It then progresses to either a more modern looking house that still is about 50 years old with the windows all broken out and the door (if there is one) hanging open or a single wide trailer listing over to one side because of its flattened tires and leaning forward on its tongue. Here again the windows are all broken out and the door is hanging open. Last is either a double wide trailer or a newer house with a yet unfinished lean-to on the side with about dozen vintage cars, trucks, or smaller trailers within spitting distance of the front door.

All the way to Four Corners was nothing but nothingness as far as you could see only interrupted by the glistening bits of glass from the thousands of broken beer bottles littering the roadside.

FYI. Four Corners is not a National Monument, a State Monument, or even a County Monument so don’t expect nice signs and smiling employees in Smokey Bear hats. It is administered by the local Native Americans that charge admission to stand on the monument. You can’t stand very long as (1) it’s really hot and (2) there are about 20 people waiting in line to act like a fool for digital posterity. For all your tourist needs they do sell jewelry, soda pop, fry bread, blankets (without smallpox, I hope), flutes, key chains, shot glasses, and overpriced T-Shirts that say, ‘I’ve been to Four Corners.’ Lucky for us we didn’t have any cash.

I think I’ve found the perfect way to go on a road trip. I go through my closet and pick out all of the worn-out shirts, old shorts, and socks with holes in them. I wash them for the last time whether they need it or not. I carefully gauge how long we’re to be gone and take the appropriate amount of clothes. Whenever I need to change clothes on the trip I simply leave them wherever we are. I can now say I have left an article of clothing in about 10 different states, generally in a KOA bathroom. I then jump into a new set of old clothes and wear these until my traveling companions not so subtly bring it to my attention that my deodorant can no longer keep up with the maturity of the clothes. I then repeat the same process until either our trip is over or I’m out of clothes. A short visit to a Wal-Mart can easily extend the duration of the road trip. When I arrive back home I have an empty bag and no laundry to do.