The New Santa Fe and an Ancient Way of Life

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I have hiked when the air is 40 degrees below zero, and I have ridden a bicycle in the rain.  But the coldest it ever gets on this earth is when the air is just above freezing, wind is strong and it’s raining.  So it was riding to Albuquerque on April 28.  Sometimes rain, sometimes snow or sleet, none of it sticking to the wet road.  I holed up in this little church in San Fidel for a while, then rode on into the storm.

At last, I came to the Route 66 Casino at  Exit 140 on I-40 late in the day, and finally went inside to warm up.  A man asked me where I was going in weather like this.  Chicago, I said.  He made a few comments about that, and when I went out to the bicycle I saw this ten-dollar bill stuck under my bungee cord.  And these are the only pictures I took during that difficult day.

The next morning was no better.  My destination was Santa Fe.  A foot of snow already fallen there with more coming down.  The uphill ride on slick roads in sub-freezing would be impossible.  I called my friends, not seen in twenty-five years, with whom I had arranged to stay, if I could only get there. 

“Take the train,” they said.

“What train?  A lot has changed in Santa Fe, including s commuter train from Albuquerque.  So I cycled to downtown Albuquerque, a short ride in the rain, rode the train to Santa Fe, and stayed with them three nights.  Here is the train with a nice bike trail beside it after the snow melted, which took only one day. 

I visited people I had not seen in twenty-five years, talked about old times, and wondered why they looked so much older.  After a restful and happy time with them, it was time to ride on.  A beautiful day led me to Pecos, then north into the wooded hills and a Benedictine Monastery called Our Lady of Guadalupe, where I slept last night. 

The monks live here to avoid the secular world, devoting themselves to “spiritual work.”  Their goal is to live mostly in prayer and contemplation.  The concept is ancient and used in many religions and philosophies, but to me it is strange. 

A life of poverty, chastity and obedience, where obedience requires the monk to obey Christ, as represented by the superior person of the monastery—an abbot or prior.  I eat with them, but at a separate table by myself.  They eat in silence, as do I, respecting their piety.  

A monk is buried here
and his name is not even on the grave

It's quiet here, and the grounds are beautiful.  Today I shall walk a few miles into the woods and along the Pecos River, trying to understand their ways, giving them the benefit of doubts that I have.  But now it is time for morning mass.  More later. 

You can click on any picture to make it bigger.  And you can scroll through the pictures by using the arrow keys.  Press Escape to return.  

You can see my progress on an interactive map, prepared by Michael Angerman, at:

https://www.google.com/maps/d/viewer?spn=1.372738%2C2.458191&ll=34.19141194851035%2C-117.74940521972655&msa=0&z=9&mid=1Y_TZPvq1-LarAZNM9P1HzAy11K8 

Zoom and scroll to see where I’ve been.