All Good Things, letter 4: The Grand Enchantment Trail, New Mexico
All Good Things is a collection of letters I wrote to my dear friend Caleb Bouchard between Summer 2020 and Spring 2022. It was published as a small chapbook by Analog Revolution Press in 2022. I’ve compiled the letters here, with additional photos, for you. Enjoy.
October 11, 2020
Dear Caleb,
I'm sitting on a boulder in a metal culvert fifteen feet in diameter under state highway 337 somewhere outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico. I got your letter. It was delivered to me via my mother's cousin's girlfriend in Española, outside of Santa Fe. I had my boss back in the Skagit Valley forward it to me along with a paycheck and a wooden box for fishing flies that the executive director made for me. I don't have an address you can reach me at right now. Though, you may reach me via general delivery at some post office along my route either in New Mexico or Arizona. I'll let you know by the time I send this.
I just mailed in my ballot yesterday. I hope that's the most pathetic vote I'm ever forced into casting. Goddammit, what the hell is wrong with these fucking neoliberals and their yellow-bellied excuse for a candidate? At least I got to vote for the board of education in Davidson County, North Carolina.
I'm hiking a route called the Grand Enchantment Trail. It's about eight-hundred miles and goes from Phoenix, AZ to Albuquerque, NM. You're supposed to hike it in the spring when there's water but I'm a glutton for dehydration, so I'm hiking it in the fall when everything's bone dry except the soda fountain at the Subway in Tijeras and the water fountain at Sandia Ranger Station. It should take me about five weeks to walk to Phoenix. I just started yesterday by taking the second longest cable tram in the world to the summit of Mt. Sandia at 10,378ft. I'm starting in New Mexico because the mountains are taller here than in Arizona, so as winter approaches and I move west I'll be met with more amiable sleeping conditions (allegedly). I slept above 9,000' last night. The sun set at 6:45, I hiked in the dark until 7:30 before turning on my headlamp to March on for another hour through cougar country. Threw down my sleeping bag, and stared out at the Albuquerque skyline ablaze with incandescence. The wind tore up over the ridgeline all night, but I slept pretty well for a guy lying on a quarter-inch sheet of foam. Woke up at 5:15am and was hiking again by moonlight at 5:30.
Moab, Utah was incredible except for all the people. Actually, the town sucked too. It's like Pigeon Forge, TN but instead of being Dolly-Parton-Themed it's a Sandstone-and-Dinosaurs-extravaganza. There's nothing wrong with sandstone and dinosaurs, I love em as much as the next twelve year old, but exploiting them on behalf of the board of tourism is just sacrilege. In spite of all that, I managed to have a full-blown spiritual experience: the one I was trying to have up on Desolation in the Cascades two months ago. Its incredible how clear our thoughts can get when we extract ourselves from the confusion of activity that is contemporary society.
Okay, I cooled off now, gonna hit the trail some more. I have a silver solar umbrella so I can hike in the shade any time I want. I forgot to pack any shorts for this hike, so it's back to my signature Captain Underpants hiking uniform until I come across a thrift store. Knowing this route, there probably won’t be one. I'm headed into some of the most remote wilderness in the lower 48. It'll be nothing but me, cattle, and the rattlers for the next couple hundred miles.
All good things,
-Ryan
