How I Found Magic on a New Mexico Road Trip

Last Winter when my girlfriend Ariel and I started talking about where we wanted our next trip to be, New Mexico was an easy choice for us. We drove through it on a road trip the year before and had decided then that we would go back when we had more time. New Mexico offered hot springs, natural wonders, and cool cities — plus Ariel has family near Albuquerque that we could visit. Also, we had just adopted an adorable Chihuahua mix puppy named Frida, so traveling domestically seemed best for her first trip.

Flying with a pup was surprisingly easy — there were pet-relief areas in both airports (JFK and Albuquerque International), and Frida slept through most of the flight. We had also taken her to the dog park for well over an hour before we left so that she would be wiped out. The rules said that Frida had to stay in her dog carrier under the seat in front of us, but the flight attendant allowed Ariel to keep the bag aka Frida in her lap if she wanted; she just "couldn't see any fur." (The rules are different for those who fly with an emotional support or service animal.)

Our flight got in pretty late, so we crashed at a hotel near the airport and hit the road the next morning, taking 25 South out of the city. In 15 minutes, Albuquerque was behind us and we were surrounded by a vast expanse of brown rock, green shrubs, and wide blue sky. The East Coast, where I grew up and have always lived, just doesn't offer this sort of stark city exodus — you'd have to drive for hours through suburbs and strip malls before getting to a stretch of highway where no buildings are visible from the road. Even then, the lonely roads of the East Coast are hemmed in by forest, thick with pine and birch. New Mexico is one of the Western states where you can drive and experience the vast expanse — flat land stretching out all around you, ending at a faraway mountain or hill. It's here that you can almost see the curve of the sky, where you can stare out for miles and miles and see nothing but land.

Truth or Consequences is a small, dusty town on the Rio Grande, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Albuquerque, with hot springs worth traveling a thousand miles for. Thirty-eight minerals saturate the geothermal water that flows up from a rift along the river before being captured and channeled into tubs by local hotels. We stayed at the Riverbend Hot Springs because it's affordable and dog friendly and has private soaking tubs available that look out on the wide, slow-moving Rio Grande. Across the river are bushes and a hill with no one around, so you can comfortably soak naked. Unlike some springs, these don't have that rotten-eggs sulfur smell, and the water was incredibly clear, to the point that during our first soak, I turned to Ariel and said, "Are we just sitting in a normal hot tub right now?" But by the time our hour was up, I felt strangely refreshed, like drinking a whole bottle of water when I didn't even realize I was thirsty. Whether from the heat or minerals, I was wiped out to the point of needing a nap and woke feeling like I had successfully shed any NYC grime and stress.

Riverbend also has free common pools for anyone staying at the hotel, which are open at night with dim lighting around the tubs and laser lights (the kind that everyone seemed to have last year for Christmas) that catch on trees and on the dark bank across the river. You can soak and stare out and imagine (if you're like me) that you're staring into a portal to another universe. The next morning, Ariel and I hung out at the common pools while Frida was leashed in the "doggie cabana" where pups had to stay; she was not happy with being left by herself, even if she could see us, so to spare the other soakers having to endure puppy whines, we took turns soaking while one of us sat next to her.

About a two-hour drive from T or C (as the locals call it) is the White Sands National Monument, where visitors can sled down gypsum sand dunes and dogs are allowed on leash, so, in the spirit of adventure seeking, that was the second stop on our trip. We drove just above Las Cruces and saw the Organ Mountains, a range of sharp peaks that rise into the sky like organ pipes, and then passed through the long stretch of flatland where the first atomic bomb was tested before reaching the national park. The visitors' center rents out flying-saucer-like sand sleds and hunks of wax, so we got our sleds, stocked up on water, and then set out on the dirt-packed road into the dunes.

The sand stretched out in every direction, a dazzling white that would've been too bright to stand without sunglasses. The San Andres Mountains stood to the west, tall and dark blue. In the other directions, nothing. The sledding was pretty tame; some of the dunes were steep, but the sleds got stuck or went at a glacial pace, even with ample wax on the bottom. When we returned the next day, we found that sledding down premade troughs made the going a little faster — I'll admit I let out a yelp or two.

The beauty of the sands wasn't in the sleds at all, but in their otherworldliness. Standing on top of a dune and looking out, I had the sense that I was standing on an endless beach without any ocean. Families picnicked and played music along the road, and yet still there were patches of eerie quiet — no birds, no wind. Frida loved the sand. She hadn't been to a beach yet at this point and wouldn't stop rolling around in it, getting covered in it, running through it. We just had to be careful to give her lots of water and take breaks to sit in the air conditioning in the car so she wouldn't overheat. Because of the hot weather, we also didn't do any of the hikes through the dunes, but I definitely got the sense that you could spend a few hours or a whole day there and get as much out of it as you wanted.

In Santa Fe, Ariel found one of the best enchiladas she's ever had, which is saying something for someone who douses every meal in hot sauce. The award-winning meal was found at a restaurant near the downtown plaza called The Shed, which we first went to because it has a front patio and allows dogs and Ariel's family had recommended it. Of the five nights in Santa Fe, we ate there for three of them. Ariel's other aunt, who lives in Brooklyn but is from New Mexico, was so excited for us to be going to Santa Fe that she booked us a private hot spring pool at the Ten Thousand Waves Spa as a birthday present to me. Now, instead of the view of a lazy Rio Grande, we looked out on forested mountains. We had an entire sauna to ourselves and the setup was a hot tub alongside an ice-cold pool. I did a few hot-cold-hot dips, Russian bath style, and then sat on a wooden bench to feel the high and meditate. I opened my eyes and it was snowing — big, soft flakes were floating down and catching on the Japanese-inspired buildings and tall pines.

The only time during the whole trip that it was notably inconvenient to be traveling with a pup was the day we left Santa Fe. We wanted to make sure we got to see the House of Eternal Return, an installation by local artist collective Meow Wolf. The installation was funded by George R.R. Martin and built out of an old bowling alley to fuse a maximalist sci-fi/fantasy story with visual art. We'd planned to go the day before we left, because we were able to leave Frida for a few hours in the apartment we'd rented, only to find that was the one day it was closed. The next day we had to check out and head back to Albuquerque, and after looking up local doggy day cares and being turned off by some bad reviews, we decided that we would take turns — one of us would go in for an hour while the other waited in the car, and then we'd switch.

I went first and easily could have spent half the day wandering through the space, taking in the different aspects of the story being told, but knowing that Ariel was waiting in the car for her turn, I did have to pick and choose what got my attention. That said, even an hour in the space was incredible. As a sci-fi/fantasy writer, I felt in my element. I had the sense that I was walking through the future of storytelling. Ariel was really into it too, and we discussed the different things we saw and rooms found on our drive back down to Albuquerque.

Most of Albuquerque was spent with family, with one lucky day when Ariel's uncle took us fishing and drove us around back roads, through rock tunnels and along swimming holes. He told us about horse riding and hunting in the Gila, a national park in the southwest of the state that he said was the place to go if we really wanted to experience New Mexico wilderness. After two weeks of driving around, I felt like we barely scratched the surface of what was there to see. I'd never expected it, but I know that New Mexico is one of those places I'll keep returning to like a favorite poem, seeing new things every time, being lifted by its beauty and magic.