King of the Road - April 2011
Across the Universe
Road-trip down N.M. 52 to explore the galaxy and ghost towns
Story and Photography by
Lesley S. King
One day, while driving across New Mexico’s broad plains on a remote road, I looked up at a horizon that appeared to stretch forever under what seemed an infinite blue sky. I experienced a feeling that I was of the same essence as the entire cosmos—one with all of creation. Today—as I drive south on I-25, then veer west onto U.S. 60 at Socorro with the intention of making a loop across the Plains of San Agustín, turning south on N.M. 52, stopping in the ghost towns of Winston and Chloride, and ending my day in Truth or Consequences with an evening soak in the town’s famous hot springs—I have a wild premonition that I will experience that feeling again.
My expansive vision isn’t that farfetched, even from a scientific perspective: I am made of the same elements—oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen—as almost everything here on Earth, as well as the stars that shine in the sky. Now, during a visit to the Very Large Array (VLA) Radio Telescope, on U.S. 60, 125 miles southwest of Albuquerque, I’ll get to explore that broad view further.
As I drive toward the VLA, the sight of it stops me. Its 27 dish antennas, each weighing 230 tons and measuring 82 feet in diameter, stretch out across this broad plain in a vast Y, listening to radio waves emitted by the sun, planets, asteroids, comets, and stars; their combined findings achieve the resolution of a single antenna 22 miles wide.
IF YOU GO: What to Do & Where to Shop Very Large Array Radio Telescope Winston General Store Where to Stay Blackstone Hotsprings Lodging Where to Dine Magdalena Café & Steakhouse |
Since construction of the VLA began in 1973, each year, on average, 1,100 scientists use the array to better understand our place in the universe. Their mind-boggling research fills a small museum on site, where I find a stunning photo of the Orion Nebula—a birthplace of stars—another depicting the center of our Milky Way Galaxy, and many other fascinations. A walking tour leads me to the base of one antenna, which towers nine stories above me. Later, in the gift shop, I find an image of one of these giants emblazoned on a tie-dyed T-shirt.
My mind saturated, I hop in the car and take the well-maintained dirt road back to N.M. 52. The plains shine golden as a red-tailed hawk circles above. The road climbs into ponderosa forest, then back down into a creek bed lined with cottonwoods. A few buildings appear, and I realize I’m in the ghost town of Winston.
Winston consists of a cluster of homes—a few lovely Victorian ones with gingerbread trim—and some abandoned structures, all surrounded by hills. Down a side street, I find what’s said to be the oldest building in town: a carriage house built in 1870, with a thick band of tin along the roofline. Farther along I come to a white stucco schoolhouse (1890). All are privately owned; visitors like me must appreciate them from the street.
I stop at the Winston General Store, founded in 1886 by Frank H. Winston, who came here when the town was known as Fairview. Like many, Winston was drawn here by the silver strike in nearby Chloride. His store was a success, he went on to become the town’s most prominent citizen, and, in 1930, a year after his death, Fairview was renamed Winston in his honor. Today the store supplies dry goods for locals, as well as such must-see items as handcrafted saddles and jewelry fashioned from elk ivory.
Back in the car, I head a few miles down N.M. 52 and soon arrive in Chloride, a village of some 26 historic buildings, many of them in an amazing state of preservation thanks mostly to Don and Dona Edmund, who have spent the past three decades fixing up this ghost town. They stumbled on Chloride in 1977, met a few locals, and stayed. “It dawned on us that the residents here were a special kind of people,” says Don. He and Dona first bought and renovated a house built in the 1880s, and later purchased and repaired other buildings.
One example is the Pioneer Store (1880). When the Edmunds began renovating the structure, it had been home to mice and bats for 77 years; now it’s a museum displaying artifacts from Chloride’s history. Coffee and tobacco tins line the shelves, and mining picks and chisels fill the tables, all surrounding an impressive hand-painted safe from 1883. Don explains that, in 1879, English prospector Harry Pye discovered silver chloride here, which started a silver rush in New Mexico, but he didn’t live to enjoy its bounty—he was killed by Apaches shortly thereafter. Nevertheless, Chloride boomed, and by 1881 had eight saloons, three general stores, and a post office.
A map of the town, available at the museum, presents thumbnail descriptions of such places as the old blacksmith shop, the Grafton Cabin—an authentic miner’s lodging—and the “hanging tree.” The records don’t indicate that anyone was actually hung from this oak, but the tree did serve as a place to tie up drunk and disorderly citizens. Since the entire town of Chloride is privately owned, visitors are asked to admire the structures from the roadways or take the guided tour offered by the museum.
Visitors can, however, saunter up to the bar of the old Monte Cristo Saloon, now a co-op gallery. Inside I find many treasures, including a pendant of brightly painted tin made by Cheryl Aber, of nearby Dusty, and a dragonfly sculpture fashioned from a pipe wrench by local Doug Lyons. Before I leave, I pick up some green-chile pecans and buffalo jerky for the road.
Driving to my next stop, I consider the Edmunds’ generous work in Chloride, which seems to illustrate the best part of my cosmic view: When you give, you also receive, because you’re giving to your larger self. In creating a historic destination for some 300 visitors every month, the Edmunds have made a sweet hometown for themselves that also generates a bit of income.
I finish my day trip down N.M. 52 in Truth or Consequences, at the Blackstone Hotsprings Lodging & Baths. In their wet room is a mineral-rich waterfall that steams all around me. As I sit on a bench, my day’s dusty journey washes away and my mind relaxes, so that I can again tap into that feeling of connection with the universe that I experienced before. I’m one with everything: the water pouring over my head, the friendly people I met today—and, of course, all the stars.
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