We walked out of Zuni Pueblo and headed east on Highway 53 in the direction of Ramah . There was a slow, steady, almost imperceptible climb with beautiful sandstone bluffs running along both sides of the road. In the side of some of these bluffs are what appear to be caves … what we called rock houses as boys back home. Thoughts swirl. Surely the ancient ones looked at them with the same inquisitive nature and sought shelter in them as they passed. A Native American road crew took lunch as we walked by. We discussed their local legends about these caves in the cliffs. Such wondrous places spark everyones imagination. Something tells the heart that if one spent the day hiking up to these cliffside shelters a sign of those who passed by so long ago might await … especially for one traveling by foot.

We made camp 16 miles from Zuni. The night was our coldest yet. I awoke to heavy frost on the inside of the tent. The altitude is now 7000 feet. After shaking off the cold, we headed five miles to Ramah. Some of us stopped at the Stagecoach Cafe for another breakfast before heading 14 miles more to El Moro National Monument… a towering sandstone cliff face that holds inscriptions of travelers passing by over the many centuries. They sought the predictable water source which exists as a sandstone well at its base. One spanish signature predates the pilgrims landing. Older still are the indian petroglyphs that appear amongst the signatures of spanish colonial governors, explorers, and early settlers. For the Spanish it was common to write: “Paso Por Aqui” … Passed by here. It feels as if it has been the same for us as it was for them. We have passed by with our footsteps. I am blessed to be here by my own power and sense what our time means when we look at these signs of humanity in the weathered sandstone of the high desert.  Our campsite was a mile down the road at The Ancient Way Cafe. Best restaurant in 100 miles and great company from the manager, Maqui and his pastry chef, Red Wolf.

El Moro

El Moro National Monument

Finding change along the side of the road

After snow & hail late yesterday afternoon, I awoke to clear skies and lighter winds. I left camp & headed with fellow marchers toward the New Mexico border. Locals refer to this road as the ancient way. It heads to Zuni Pueblo and on to Gallup N.M. As with so many roads in this part of the country it is straight as an arrow with long dips and rises that allow us to see miles in front of us as we walk. It was a beautiful day but as with the previous two days it grew quite windy. At mile four from camp we passed the Witch Well Saloon. It was closed at 9:30am as we passed. The remaining miles to camp passed very quickly and at a bit past 2pm we made our campsite which was around 15 miles from our morning campsite. The site was about a mile from the New Mexico border and 12.5 from Zuni Pueblo. The view on down that Ancient Way into New Mexico drew me to make a shot at Zuni Pueblo and leave the planned camp behind me. I had heard from a local that Zuni Pueblo had no motels but did have a quite nice local B&B that was reasonable so I put the windy campsite at the side of the highway behind me and headed on to Zuni. It was a beautiful walk with Butte’s and mesa’s in front of me. They seemed so far away but as the hours and miles past they closed and at about 6:30 I reached town. I walked another mile through the Pueblo looking for a diner with no luck and then returned the mile to check out the B&B. It was then I realized the time had changed and it was now an hour later. Now I am thinking it is getting late for the B&B … it was. Nobody at the Inn to answer the phone or here my knock at the door. Zuni Pueblo looks interesting with a little daylight but for a man who has used foot power to enter town and will need it to make his exit, darkness can seem a bit unsettling. When there is no place to lay your head after walking nearly 30 miles you find yourself in a bit of a conundrum… a tired, hazy, conundrum. Yes, a phone call earlier in the day would have solved this problem but phone service has been spotty to non existent and It didn’t happen. I was very fortunate.(although by 6am I may no longer think so) There is an all night gas & convenience store in the heart of Zuni. The two clerks offered me advice on contacting the B&B owners and broke the bad news that nothing else is available till Gallup which is another 35 miles down the road. There is also no taxi in Zuni and the bus service only runs weekdays… ouch! But after all that bad news they said it was fine for me to stay in the store and take refuge at a table where they serve the hot dogs, drinks and chicken wings. I could call back to camp and get the blister bus to come get me, but it doesn’t seem quite right since I got myself into this situation all on my own. The store clerks check on me from time to time with questions about how far I walk and does my face hurt from being so red … it’s windburn from a long, long day. But it seems funny having Native Americans talking about how red my face is. As the night passes they shift back and forth from English to a native tongue. I am immersed in native culture as I sink in and out of consciousness …. what a day. Have I learned anything? Life is.

The March will catch me tomorrow afternoon right here in Zuni but I’ll be sleeping in that B&B all day. Instead of hearing from me, they’ll hear tales of the lone marcher who kept the all night vigil with the night owls at the Zuni Giant Convenience store.

To put it simply … I’m whipped. Yesterday I completed a 25 mile walk with heavy winds blowing all day long. The winds continue today and are much, much stronger. Our meager campsite was offered at the last minute after yet another ranch decided against allowing us camping privileges as was previously agreed. We are so happy someone had the compassion to allow us to camp. The closest civilization is a saloon situated at the edge of a nearby zuni reservation. It is 4 miles walk.

I am trying to lay in my tent and get some rest. It is quiet in camp if you ignore the howling winds and snapping sounds of nylon tents being pressed past the limits. Most fellow marchers are walking. Many were unable to finish the 25 mile day, They went back to restart where they had been picked up by the blister wagon yesterday. I am huddled in my tent which is partially collapsed around me. It isn’t likely to do me much good in a few hours when the 70% chance of rains are forecast. It does keep me out of the 40 plus mile per hour gusts which at this instant seems wondrous. All my stuff is pulled up in a pile to give me a little headroom from the raging nylon tent walls that keep beating against my head as the winds roll. I cant put my tent all the way up. If I do the stakes will pull right out of the soft sand and this whole thing will blow apart with me inside. I guess you need to be here to fully grasp the situation, but would you really want to put yourself in these circumstances for simple clarification? I doubt it.

To continue, I can spit up something resembling a mudpie at a moments notice. You see, the zipper has broken on the tent and the howling winds bring loads of fine sand and dirt into this waving pile of a nylon. Dust is everywhere…including my mouth. I am wrapping the iPad up in a baggie soon. Rain will turn the dust to mud and I will forget about telling a story and think only of surviving the rest of this day and coming night. This is a low point. It will give my legs and hips added incentive to do what needs to be done in the morning … get the hell out of here.

Campsite near Concho

My sacred stone