New Mexico State Road 63 is a beautiful drive that parallels the Pecos River as it winds up and into the southern most portion of the Rockies, otherwise known as the Sangre De Cristo Mountains, in the Santa Fe National Forest. It is a gorgeous drive that has at least 13 separate campsites with many campgrounds in each one. It’s a great place to stay and camp although since it is indeed high up, it can get quite cold.

The Pecos River that runs alongside the road is also a fantastic place to do some fishing. There are also many meadows for meandering through and enjoying. Also along the road are rock climbing routes that my friend and his father put up decades ago. They’ve also filmed some scenes from the show Longmire on the road and near this awesome old bridge.

I found myself towards the top, at the end of State Road 63, in February of 2016 when I travelled west from Oklahoma City on a whim and on my last dime. It was my second solo trip to the American Southwest but it was the one that cemented the region as the greatest in the world for me.

It was getting dark and cold and I had barely enough money for gas to get home but I had one more night before I made the trek back east. Thankfully, the wind blows eastward on I-40 and countless semis trundle on with which to draft behind.

I first tried to camp in a random but beautiful looking campground where the moon was shining bright as the sun was setting. Ultimately though, I didn’t like it. The feelings, or vibes, if you will, were off. Plus, there was a road that continued through the forest on the other side of these flat and flooded campsites. It was calling my name. The lure of the unknown was beckoning. Up there, I thought, I may be the only person for 10s of miles. The only person on that mountain ridge. Something was driving me up… towards the peaks. So, I decided I needed to head further up the mountain beyond this campground, but not on State Road 63. Instead of the highway, I travelled beyond this Links Tract Campground, on that dark dirt road. With swigs of courage and music blaring I plunged further up the mountain, through the dense growth and winding trail.

This proved to be a terrible decision and I got myself and my truck stuck in the white on the steep incline of a thin shoulderless dirt road. I guess more accurately: snow road. My truck at the time, this was a trusty 2009 Toyota Tacoma… well, it didn’t have 4WD. But I didn't panic! I didn’t even panic after my folding shovel broke as I was digging myself out of the cold and rapidly darkening mess I had made for myself. Thankfully, I had Bulleit and grit.

Using what remained of the folding shovel I’d only ever used this one time, I freed myself. I then backed down the mountain and exited this cursed campground. Although, it stayed in my mind as an idea if nothing was available further up the road. Dear God, please have something further up the road…

Surprisingly, and blessedly, I found a spot at the end of State Road 63 that was calling my name. Unfortunately, it was mostly covered in ice and snow. But this time it was no matter, I had found a home base for the evening and my campsite was less than 10 feet from the Pecos River. I could hear its flow loudly gurgling and gushing from the bed of my truck; the place I would be sleeping that evening. It was heaven.

Luckily, I had acquired some firewood on the way up after the debacle with the snow shovel or else it would have been a cold and a dark evening before bed. But then curiously and again thankfully, after laying out my sleeping bag under the stars (hopefully it would not snow on me that evening), I procured some more from a nearby campground that was rapidly abandoned immediately after I showed up. Granted, I did ask if they wanted to join me by the fire for some libations and stories… apparently the gentlemen’s gig was up and they scrammed in a hurry after my inquiry. I am still not sure what was going on but no doubt it was nefarious.

Regardless, they were gone and I now had copious amounts of wood and a full belly from a wonderful dinner at Del Charro in Santa Fe and the fire was hot and I was happy. But then, a small car, which I had noticed had driven slowly by earlier, dove by slowly yet again before turning into the campground. The ice and snow crunched beneath their tires until they stopped at a spot north of me. They never got out of their vehicle. I only noticed them bundling up in the small cab with their light on. At this point, I simply had no choice. In my beat up 10 year old cowboy hat, my black leather jacket with my tattered black housecoat over top of it and in my black boots and black jeans, I walked over to their car. I stopped about 10 feet away, waved and smiled like an imbecile, and shouted, “wanna come join me by the fire?!”

It turns out they were from Canada and they were doing a 50 state tour. They were awesome and fun and we talked by my roaring and warm fire long into the night. Too long, actually. At one point I showed them a picture of me and my dog on my phone at which point they laughed and became comfortably relieved. I laughed with them and asked what was up and they said they were quite frightened and even prepared to rapidly start the car and drive away as I approached in my frightening getup. They now realized I was a normal man. A normal, innocent man.

After saying goodnight and after the crunching of the ice and snow beneath their shoes ceased, I heard the closing of their car doors. The sound of the river’s rushing water current kept me asleep the entire night.