Grants, NM to Cuba, NM

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DAY 1
We woke a bit sleep deprived (too much to do in town!) and moseyed out of town around 8:00 am, pounding our feet on paved roads to start our leg to Cuba. Our first stop was a half-mile off the resurrected Old Route 66 at a store that sold organic foods and supplements as well as delicious $3.00 breakfast burritos with egg, chilies, cheese and bacon. Yum! Not an intended stop, but well worth it. We continued north and made a second stop at the Forest Service Station, hoping to get some maps to supplement what we already had. We bought a couple maps and in a long moment of procrastination, sat in the lobby reading informational brochures about black bears and what to do in case of a confrontation or attack. Same standard issue information, but we were amused that one set of instructions was to “not spray ourselves with pepper spray to repel bears the way that we spray ourselves with deet to repel mosquitoes”.
 
After leaving the Forest Service Station we continued several miles uphill on paved road until we reached a campground, still closed for the season, where we ate and took a 2-hour siesta (still not escaping our procrastinating mood). It was nice to have the place to ourselves! Refreshed, we continued on, and climbed to the top of a Mesa where we would continue hiking for the next day. Along the way we met a guy we call “Cheech” (for reasons overly obvious). A nice man who we encountered this day and the next in his quest to find shredded elk antlers on the mesa.
 
At dusk we reached a lightly running stream in a canyon below a dirt forest service road that was our trail. In addition to the stream the area offered a comfortable soft pine needle site for our tents. In our procrastination we only managed about 10 or 12 miles, but that was fine for us.
 
We always cook away from our camp to keep animals away from where we tent. So, after cooking I picked Leslie’s hiking poles off the ground to lean against a ponderosa and noticed the webbing on her pole appeared to be torn. Upon closer inspection we discovered that a little critter had chewed through the webbing on her pole and tiny teeth marks could be found on the top of her handle.
 
DAY 2
The next morning, Leslie stomped the ground next to where her hiking pole was chewed to wake up the critter that damaged her poles. Paybacks….
 
We then left early, and hiked onward to the high desert on the mesa. The weather was typical, cool in the morning with clear skies and warming up throughout the day. Shortly after we began hiking we came across a man and his dog who were camping in their RV in a meadow. The man had brought his wife and her friend to explore the area and he was an avid backpacker. We chatted for 20 minutes and continued up the mesa.
 
After a relatively uneventful, yet exhausting day we stopped at “Ojo de los Indios” a smaller canyon that according to the guidebooks offered an excellent water source about a mile into the canyon. It was dusk when we arrived at the canyon and we began exploring the area looking for a good area to set up camp for the night. Suddenly we heard a loud deep growl from the woods and rocks inside the canyon. Immediately, I was very curious. The deep, reedy growl got louder and David looked at me with wide eyes. Leslie starting talking in a gentle yet loud voice to let the bear know we were there. Despite this, the growling got louder – the creature was coming closer. This is not typical behavior for bears unless they feel threatened. Leslie immediately was ready to go – she said “it’s a bear and he’s telling us to leave”. We grabbed our packs and walked very quickly toward the road. The growling continued to get louder. All of the sudden we saw it – a huge brown bear – no a big brown cow. Yes, this was a growling cow. Not a mooing cow- a growling cow. It was not happy and likely not healthy, although it was very large. We were all amazed and amused- it didn’t sound ANYTHING like a cow. It sounded like a bear! It ran passed us into the field across the road and we all sighed and set up camp next to a rock outcropping in the canyon beneath some ponderosa pines and junipers enjoying another night of a pine needle mattress.
 
It was now dark and we needed water. Everyone was tired from our 25-mile hike that day and the cow-bear incident. I bartered with Leslie, “If you set up camp, I’ll go get the water.” The deal was made and I set off with a headlamp for a mile walk down the dark canyon for water wondering what kind of animals I might see. I walked quickly knowing that I only had an hour and a half to get back before people started to worry. I left at 8:15 and said I would be back by 9:45. I walked further and further down the dry streambed in the canyon to find no water. Then at about 40 minutes in the walk I saw small pools of water that had collected on rocks in the dry streambed. The further downstream I went the more water I found. However, the cattle tank I was looking for was nowhere to be found. I settled on a pool of water that had been collected from the rainstorm earlier in the day and collected 2 gallons. I returned by 9:45 and filtered the water with a bandana and purified it. We ate cold dinner (bars) that night and crashed.
 
DAY 3
The next morning, determined to find the water source listed on the map I left with our dromedaries with the idea of coming back with delicious cold, clean water for the entire day. A trip that was intended for 30 minutes ended up being 2 hours. I got turned around above one of the canyons and came out near where I found the water the night before. I did not find the water and we left camp around 10:00. We hiked to a junction that listed Ojo de los Indios and the Spring I had searched for – Leslie believed the spring and tank were located further down the canyon.
 
We continued hiking throughout the day passing several “cow water” options and decided to hike down to what the guidebooks listed as delicious spring water at Ojo Frio as we descend the Mesa. We descend the Mesa thirsty but looking forward to the Ojo Frio Spring. Upon descent we have awesome views of Mount Cabezon, numerous cinder cones and canyons. The landscape is filled with Chollo and prickly pears again and many are ready to bloom. We finally descended the mesa and come to a road junction. There are no signs for Ojo Frio. We looked at the maps and realized that we passed it a mile back, part way up the Mesa. I cut a deal with Leslie again, if she works on the maps and logistics for the next day, David and I will go back and get water. A chance to redeem myself.
 
David and I walked a mile uphill looking forward to the cold unlimited water. And did not find it – we had one limited map, Leslie was using the others for logistics planning. We came back dry 2 hours later and Leslie had set up camp in a meadow next to the dirt forest service road. We had only come 10 miles that day, it was disappointing to have to camp already without making our miles but we were very thirsty and it was beginning to get dark. Before David and I left looking for Ojo Frio, Leslie walked on the road junction searching for water and I walked further down the road that we were hiking. Neither of us found anything. David and I decided to continue search for a cow pond or trough somewhere near camp in the nearby canyons or empty streambeds.
 
Other than finding more cows and bulls and an interesting canyon David and I did not find any water. It was dark and we headed back to camp about a mile away. We saw Leslie’s headlamp and heard her voice about a half-mile to our camp and she said to come to straight to her. She decided to look for us, and walked along a road that paralleled the canyon we were in. We reached here, exhausted and thirsty, and she said she had something to show us. We searched for the mark she had left on the road that indicated directions to this special “thing” that she had found. In the desert dirt off the road about 100 yards was what looked like a manhole cover with the label “WATER” on it. We spent about an hour trying unsuccessfully to open it using various McGyver tactics in hopes that we would have “real” water. I even made a wooden key to see if we could unlock this water cover. Disappointed and waterless, we walked back to our camp to collect the unthinkable cow poo stew that was beginning to sound pretty good. We were all very thirsty. It was 11 pm and we had been without water since around 4 pm.
 
Earlier before going to search for Ojo Frio I found a small rusted circular cow trough with grayish, green “cow stew”. Surrounding the trough was more of the same with cow prints and pies all around. I thought to myself how I would never drink this. This has now become our only option. We collected 8 quarts and I strained the gooey water with my bandana twice before giving it to Leslie to boil. The intention was to collect the steam from the lid and drain it to a different pot, drinking relatively pure water. Heating the gray water accentuated all of the smells and when Leslie opened the pot lid a horrific stench filled our noses and the tent. “It’s frothing!” Leslie yelled. No evaporated water to drink. The grayish green froth from the boiling water was horrid. Leslie, already dehydrated like the rest of us, insisted she could survive without it, and refused to drink it. I refused to drink it too. I thought, I’ll hike south 7 miles to get water if needed. We went to bed thirsty and exhausted.
 
DAY 4
By 6:40 am, Leslie and I left with our dromedaries, confident that with extra maps and Leslie orienteering skills we could find Ojo Frio- and sure enough we did. Ojo Frio was located about a mile down a trail junction near where David and I had looked the previous night. The water source was a spring fed circular open concrete tank. The water was clear and cold and the tank was filled with bugs and algae but there was an opening in the algae from where we drew our water. We filled our water bottles and treated it with bleach and waited 20 minutes while we filled our other containers. The water tasted like strong mineral water and we only drank 1/3 of a quart each but collected several gallons. We hiked 2 miles back to our camp and cooked a breakfast of mashed potatoes and cocoa. The cocoa masked the “mineral” flavor of the water and the mashed potatoes were delicious.
 
After breakfast a BLM ranger stopped by our camp while we were packing up. (It’s important to note here that these BLM roads that we have been hiking are extremely isolated. The roads are made of gravel, clay and often are not passable in a non four-wheel drive vehicle.) The ranger provided some helpful information about the area and mentioned that there was a team of archeologists exploring the area for the next couple of days. He also mentioned that there is an artisan well with a spigot only 2/3 of a mile up the road that Leslie explored yesterday. He said the water does not need to be treated and that in his opinion it is some of the best in New Mexico. Despite being behind by 10 miles and a couple of hours I convinced Leslie that it would be worth it to get the water for the next day. David and I found the spigot and drank a quart each and filled our water bottles. We also cleaned the cow stew dromedaries and Leslie’s cook pot and returned to camp.
 
We returned and continued our hike through the valley passing the Chico canyon. The guidebooks warned of quicksand in the canyon after rainfall, I wondered if any of the sand next to the muddy deposits were quicksand. The sun baked us as we hiked the to San Luis. Two trucks stopped during this time. One truck was driven by possibly a rancher with his wife in the passenger seat. He asked if we were ready for a ride. We declined and explained what we were doing. He seemed curious, wished us luck and drove away. The other truck was driven by an older man who stopped ahead of me and then backed up. He asked if we were hiking that “divide…” I said yes and I only heard him say, “you have more guts than……” before his engine drowned out his voice. I thanked him for the offer and comment and he went on his way.
 
As we got closer to San Luis I remembered the BLM Ranger we met earlier mention that there was a bar in town. He said their hours were unpredictable, but I was optimistic that we could get some town snacks. We were all hungry and thinking about food. We eventually passed the bar and were able to get some chips and soda. As we hiked out of town, a man named Robert who tried to get Leslie to come over to his parked truck, drove to catch up to us and stopped in the road as we were hiking. He introduced himself and his buddy “Whitey”. They offered their extra trailer to us for the night, which was generous, but they were very drunk and so we declined. They also offered us beer and water, almost insisting that we take something, so I took a beer and they left. They drove ahead to a spot where they could u-turn and stopped again on their way back. Whitey said “You want another beer” and pulled one out before I could say no. Since Leslie had declined a drink the first time around Whitey turned to her and said “You don’t need one. I know you are not an alcoholic”, and then pointed to me and said “But you are an alcoholic, just like me. Welcome to my world.” He seemed content with this assessment, handed me the beer, and then they left. That was the last we saw of them, but we would talk about them for the next hour, just laughing at the strangeness of the encounter.
 
At dusk we were almost at the highway when a man stopped and asked us if we wanted a ride. He is a postal worker from Florida who was on vacation taking photographs as his new hobby and potential profession. He took us 25 miles to Cuba. We got to town after 9:00 pm. I declined an offer to have beer with the gentleman who gave us the ride and David and I walked to McDonalds where we blew $30 for food. We returned, all of us ate, showered, and slept.
 
DAY 5
We woke early for the slack pack the following day. A “slack pack” is a component of a long distance hike that doesn’t require bringing supplies such as a tent, stove, extra food, etc. Our plan was to hike the 25 miles that we didn’t complete the day before and then get a ride back. The hike was along a busy road and was uneventful. We all felt strong and hiked the distance in less than 8 hours. We caught a ride from a law enforcement official who serves warrants and arrests warrant violators. He described the meth problem in the area, the New Mexico gun laws and to be careful in Cuba. After he dropped us off, we showered, ate at the local restaurant and wound down for the night.
 
DAY 6
The people of Cuba have been very friendly from my perspective. The Post Office has a Trail Registry, Herman at the laundromat took much time to talk with me and I’ve spoken with many locals. Our driver’s perspective of the place does not fit with my experience, though when we went for McDonalds the first night here we did have 2 drunk people yell at us to “Go Home”. This day was spent just getting current with the website and town chores.
 
 
~Dave
 
 
Info on Grants from: http://www.legendsofamerica.com/HC-Grants.html
 
"Like most places in New Mexico, Grants was first home to the Anasazi, who established an advanced civilization in Chaco Canyon to the north of present day Grants in the 12th century. The long abandoned area changed when the railroad made plans to extend its lines from the east. The first resident of the region was Don Jesus Blea, who owned the contracts for the railroad and established his home in 1872 on the southern side of San Jose Creek. He called his new “settlement” Alamitos (Little Cottonwoods.)
 
Soon three brothers by the names of Angus, Lewis and John Grant were contracted to build the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad through the region, establishing base camps during their work westward. In 1881 the railroad reached Alamitos and the settlement became a coaling station. Before the railroad came through, only three or four Hispanic families lived in the area, primarily making their livings at ranching. When the trains arrived, so did the rapid development of Grants, as a tent city sprang up on the west side of town, sheltering thousands of railroad workers. Soon, the settlement’s name was changed to Grant’s Camp after the three brothers who had built the railroad.
 
In this same year, Cibola County was formed from what was formerly Valencia County, and Grant’s Camp became the county seat on June 19, 1881. An entrepreneur named Simon Bibo purchased 160 acres from Jesús Blea and built a store and hotel. He also sold much of the property to other businessmen and in no time, several other businesses sprang up along the near the railroad tracks.
 
During the late 1800s, the area surrounding Grant's Camp had an abundance of water which enticed many homesteaders to farm the region. Others grazed cattle and sheep on nearby ranches or took advantage of the plentiful logging opportunities. In 1882, the post office was established with the name of Grants, but the population continued to call the settlement Grant’s Camp. Later when the Railroad Station was built, that changed to Grant’s Station and in 1936, the town’s official name was changed to plain ole’ Grants. Though remaining mostly a quiet farming community, Grants took advantage of the many travelers who came through town when Route 66 was built. Motels and services soon opened right up against the railroad tracks, many of which still operate today.

In 1950, a local rancher named Paddy Martinez found an odd yellow rock in the nearby Haystack Mountains ten miles west of town. Soon, the rock was found to be uranium which created a booming economy in the area when the U.S Atomic Energy Commission began to mine the valuable ore. It also started a fever among the locals as many invested in Geiger counters and took to the hills. Where never before had land been posted as “No Trespassing,” it was now posted with “Trespassers Will be Prosecuted or Shot.” Disputes between landowners regarding mineral rights claims became common and local attorneys had a field day.
 
The area uranium reserves turned out to be one of the largest in the world and the population of Grants boomed from some twelve hundred people to nearly twelve thousand. The Grants uranium industry developed about six thousand jobs and produced about 63 percent of all the uranium mined in the United States. The mining continued in full force until the 1982-83 recession forced the closing of the mines and the mills.
 
Though losing some of its population when the mines closed, the city of Grants had diversified its economy, so it continued to thrive. Today, Grants is a small town of just less than 9,000 residents. A growing tourist destination, the town is favored for its fishing and boating at Bluewater and Ramah lakes, its proximity to the Anasazi ruins, and its outdoor recreation in national monuments and forests.
 
For the Route 66 enthusiast, several icons still appear including the Lariat Lodge, Grants Cafe founded in 1937, the Sands Motel, Lavaland Motel, the closed Lux Movie Theatre and Trail Drive-In Theatre, and many more. In Grants, Old 66 is called Santa Fe Avenue. Grants, New Mexico is located 60 miles west of Albuquerque on Interstate 40, or if you prefer, Historic Route 66."
 
 
And from: http://www.byways.org/browse/byways/2087/overview.html
 
"No road in the world has the intrigue and quirky diversity of Route 66. The charm, the history, and the atmosphere that makes up "The Mother Road" brings travelers from all over the world to experience America the way it should be experienced - down a stretch of highway where "anything goes" is literal. From ancient pueblo cities that are still inhabited to abandoned motels and neon signs that represent an era of mobility and change, Route 66 in New Mexico is an eclectic mix of ancient and contemporary cultures that somehow seem to exist in harmony.
 
You will find that driving down Route 66 in New Mexico is like stepping back in time: the architecture varies from abandoned stucco motels to ancient Indian pueblos, remodeled Art Deco museums to 1950s diners. Even the most ancient of Indian ruins have diverse histories: the Pueblo culture was made up of a combination of the traditional Native American and Spanish cultures. Many of the Pueblos are still inhabited, and the people live in much of the same way as their ancestors. For a real lesson in another culture, visit the Acoma Pueblo. The Acoma Sky City pueblo still does not have electricity or running water, and many of the people are artisans who continue to sell their wares to visitors.
 
Ten miles down the road from the Pueblo, you will find abandoned motels and gas stations from the 1920s, leaving reminders of an era when people were leaving their cares and moving out west. The very phrase "out west" seemed to mean independence; a kind of asphalt revolution. The culture of the west can be seen all along Route 66, as America began their love affair with the automobile in the 1940s and 50s. Convenience stores and fast food restaurants lined the road as people experienced their newfound freedom in Mustangs and 'vettes, Elvis crooning out of the radio.
 
"Out West" meant anything was possible. Along Route 66, this seems to still be true, as millions of Americans continue to 'get their kicks on Route 66.'"
 
 
And from: http://www.nmohwy.com/n/nememimu.htm
 
"The New Mexico Mining Museum is the only uranium mining museum in the world. The underground tour is a unique opportunity to see, touch and feel the underground world where thousands of men and women have worked to bring this precious ore to the surface."