The Mother Road

It's hard to believe, but for the first time in my life I took a road trip alone. Just myself and the open highway, plus about 4000 big rig trucks give or take a few. I was on my way to a national art quilters conference in Santa Fe and Glenn couldn't get away from classes to come along so he advised me to take the interstate route instead of our usual path through Clovis and Fort Sumner just in case there was a car problem and I needed cell phone coverage and assistance. This meant driving I-27 north to Amarillo and then turning onto I-40 west, the original Route 66, known as the Mother Road, that stretches from Chicago to L.A.

 At first the scenery is just a hum of highway, horizon, and sky, the panhandle in all its minimalism, then right before Tucumcari the earth begins to roll and sway and then chisel itself into beige, scrubbed raw mesas. I love these wild vistas of New Mexico. Not as dramatic as the Rockies, but calmer, a little more mysterious. The ghosts of mingled cultures filling the earth and sky.
 The beauty of traveling alone is that you can stop where you please, and on the Mother Road you head for the truck stops in all their bright lit extravagance. Russell's offered a Fifties vibe, with the restrooms designated for Elvises and Marilyns. Coffee please.

On to Santa Rosa and then up to Clines Corners, another craptacular truck stop. And here I left I-40 and turned up the two lane road to Santa Fe where the familiar 45 minute drive to the mountains seemed to whiz by thanks to my audio book (something about spies).

I checked into Garrett's Desert Inn, conveniently located, as they proudly claim, between the Square and Canyon Road. The vibe there is distinctly vintage motel (little pink bathroom tiles!) but it's cheap and clean and accessible. I then drove up to the Lodge at Santa Fe, up St. Francis St. and on the way to the opera house, to check in at the conference. (I've been here so many times I can pretty much drive like a local.) I knew not a soul there but I have never met a friendlier, more open and relaxed group of people. Everyone was inclusive and willing to share ideas, techniques, tips, venues, and resources. I shared business cards with other artists and attended some helpful sessions on marketing artwork (it's all done online now, so even this blog is considered one of my resources, for all six of you reading it, but supposedly I am supposed to have a link to my Etsy site and my Facebook page. Plus I'm supposed to Twitter and check in on Linkedin, but, whew, I'd never get any art done). I also attended a session on colour theory, and heard life stories of successful members actually making a career out of their work.
Of course the best part of being in Santa Fe was being in Santa Fe. Art, food, scenery, shops, history, atmosphere....what's not to love? Even as it grows and changes (and gets pricier) there is always a familiarity, a reassuring sameness to being back there and finding the same favorite spots.
The first night, since it was my birthday, I sat alone in the bar at the La Fonda Hotel and toasted myself with a Cosmo. That sounds slightly pitiful but I was as happy as I could be in my splendid solitary state.

 I did mingle with the other conference goers in sessions and at the silent auction social/fundraiser but I ate dinner alone the next night at The Pink Adobe, again feeling the romance of being unmoored and unfettered.
On Saturday, my friend Toni, and her husband, Gordon, drove in from Albuquerque and took me to lunch at Tomasita's, joined by the mayor of Santa Fe and his wife, who happen to be their good friends. The mayor is well-liked, and numerous people came by our table to say hello to him. After that we went to the International Folk Art Museum, a charming place to wander through, where they were having a special exhibit of Amish quilts.

With the conference over I drove over to Albuquerque and spent the night at Toni's for a nice evening chat over wine and guacamole, before heading home the next day.
Here are a few images from Santa Fe, the city different: