Sure, there’s a faster way to travel between two of New Mexico’s most prominent cities. You can use I-25, the Interstate, and get there in an hour. Yawn! Or you can take the “road less traveled”— the one called “The Turquoise Trail” and not spend a boring minute along its 50-some mile route.

Seems like a no-brainer to me!

So, on a recent fall day, my husband and I set out on the latter — a route forged centuries ago by Native Americans, miners and Spanish Conquistadores. We’ve been told that the historic byway owes its name to the vast lode of blue-green gemstones discovered in the area centuries ago — the only place of its kind in New Mexico. We’ve also been told that meandering along the Trail offers a visual and mental treat — that its vistas are breathtaking and that its rustic villages and those who reside in them are, in every case, the most memorable kind.
We are not disappointed on either score.

Glitter and glamour give way to funky Old West charm

As we head south on Cerrillos Road from downtown Santa Fe, we pass countless strip malls. But once onto Highway 14, the urban landscape quickly fades away. In its place, mountains, polka-dotted with pinyon pines and scrub junipers, come into view. Bright golden chamisa blooms along fence-lines. Gnarly rock formations flank portions of the two-lane roadway. A herd of buffalo grazes nearby.

And then, about 20 miles out, we follow signs that lead to the dirt streets and adobe houses of Los Cerrillos (“the little hills”) established in 1879 as a tent camp amid the Cerrillos Mining District. Actually, Cerrrillos’(the “Los” is often dropped) history goes much further back—to the Native Americans who first mined the mineral they believed help ward off evil. The Spanish later continued mining operations (gold and silver too) for export to Spain. It is said that Cerrillos turquoise graces the crown jewels of Spain.

It would be easy to think that this is a real “ghost town.” We see no signs of life, not even a stray dog. A few wooden buildings, the paint long gone, rise up like weathered tombstones along the town’s one short street. Broken fences and corral posts poke out of weeds like the ribs of long-dead beasts. Faded signs attest to thriving businesses now put to rest.

But, thank goodness we don’t make that U-Turn!

Ironically, it is the photo-op of Tom Morin’s elegant wrought iron gate with its carved wooden lintel that literally “opens doors” to us. Seeing us admiring the structure, Morin, a local sculptor, comes out to personally welcome us into his gallery and the splendid garden beyond. Tom creates sculptures with used sanding belts and discs, veneered onto kiln-dried wood armatures.

He uses varying widths of the materials — all of rich, earthy colors — in flat surfaces and in tubular fashion, creating works reminiscent of American tribal rugs.

Lucky for us, Tom loves to talk about the town he’s lived in for 15 years. He’s a wealth of information about the town’s history, its culture and some of its 200 residents, who, for the most part, zealously guard their community’s “off-the-grid” status quo.

Many movies have been filmed in Cerrillos (Young Guns — circa 1988 — seems to be the one mentioned most), but none, according to Morin, has had a cast of characters as colorful as the real folks who live in and around town. He cites Todd Brown, who operates the Casa Grande Trading Post, Petting Zoo, and Turquoise Mining Museum from a home he and his wife built from 65,000-adobe-bricks some 35 years ago. The museum features an amazing array of relics and wrecks from Cerrillos’ past and a collection of modern day funk as well: everything from refrigerator magnets to one-of-a-kind mining tools. Morin calls Brown a Cerrillos “staple,” and says he’s reason enough to pull off N.M. 14 and into town. “He’s an encyclopedic treasure, more than happy to share history and stories of Cerrillos with customers, especially the paying ones.”

Perhaps less visible but as unique in vision as well are the dozen or so artists and crafts-people who have converted old buildings and cabins into studios where they work. Some create in private; others open for business—when the mood strikes. A sure way to see their wares is to follow the Turquoise Trail Artists’ Studio Tour. It takes place in late September—an annual event.

Hands down, the most colorful character in town is 92-year-old Mary Tappero Mora, who opens her Main Street Bar every morning at 10—rain or shine. According to local lore, Mary has never had an alcoholic drink.

At first we think that Mary might be playing hooky the day we visit. The door is open, but no lights are on inside.

“Are you open?” I call tentatively, expecting no answer.

“You’re in here, aren’t you? Mary snarls back.

I don’t even flinch at the abrupt reply. Earlier, Tom Morin has warned us that Mary is the queen of crusty come-backs — that we should expect the worst.

Instead, we shamelessly woo her by stocking her refrigerator with sodas, left by a delivery man with a busy schedule to keep. After that, Mary’s expletive-filled complaints about “worthless relatives” who are supposed to do the heavy lifting for her, cease. So do her snappy one-liners which are legendary. To the question “Is this a ghost town?” that visitors routinely ask, Mary’s stock reply is “Yes, and I’m the ghost.” It’s safe to say that Mary revels in her role as Cerrillo’s stand-up comedienne.
Mora’s grandfather moved to Cerrillos from Italy in the late 1800s and owned at various times, a saloon, general store and hotel. Her husband was a prisoner of war during the Battle of the Bulge. “When he left, he was 180 pounds,” Mary remembers. “When he came back, he weighed 72.” Mary proudly shows us his photo, along with his Purple Heart, on a wall above the bar.

If it were up to people like Tom Morin and Mary Mora, present-day Cerrillos would never change.

My guess is that tourists like us feel exactly the same way.

Meanwhile, down the road in Madrid ...

To start with, it’s pronounced MAD-rid, not like it is in Spain. And the scene here is worlds apart from where we’ve just been. Unlike Cerrillos, this “ghost town” rocks!
The town’s revival is fairly recent---the 1970s. Its former life was built around the Albuquerque & Cerrillos Coal Company that headquartered here in 1906 and brought 4,000 workers to the area. Its demise came at the end of World War II, when natural gas became more widespread.

For sure, it’s best to park your car and venture down Main Street on foot—for close-up views of quirky and colorful clapboard homes and company stores descended from Madrid’s mining days. Today the buildings house eclectic shops, artist studios, coffee shops, and galleries that feature arts and crafts of every ilk. Fountains and rock gardens between them reveal surprises like gilt angels, iron elk, old gas pumps and Stonehenge-size wrought-iron gates. Something for everyone! That’s what this town is all about.

You can learn more about Madrid’s history at the Old Coal Mine Museum, where you may wander among sinister-looking machine parts and even walk partway down an abandoned mineshaft. (Talk about feeling the “ghosts” around you!) On weekends and holidays from Memorial Day through mid-October, the Engine House Theatre next door presents old-timey melodrama productions. Booing, hissing, and throwing marshmallows (available at the door for a small fee) are part of the fun.

An even more classic remnant of company-town days is the Mine Shaft Tavern where a sign over the door offers a bit of local humor: “Madrid Has No Town Drunk — We All Take Turns.” Inside, you can belly up to a 40-foot bar and order a buffalo-steak lunch. It might take you all afternoon to read the inscriptions interwoven among the mural panels. One proffers that “It is Better to Drink than Work.” Surely everyone in the bar that day, from long-distance bikers to gallery-gazers, is joyfully heeding those words.
Once a landmark trade destination, turned bona fide company mining town, turned ghost town, Madrid’s newest evolution appeals to modern-day cowboys, outlaws, serious art collectors and kitsch-gatherers, movie producers, celebrities, and of course, day-tripping tourists like Bill and me. We’re all here to experience the town’s quirkiness — and its irresistible charm.

For those with energy to spare

After hours-long stop-overs in Cerrillos and Madrid, our energy is waning a bit by later afternoon, but there are still sights to see. So for the sake of journalistic integrity, we soldier on. Past the all-but-forgotten town of Golden (so named because it was the site of the first gold strike west of the Mississippi in 1825), we take a jog to the west, in the direction of Sandia Crest. Because we’ve been on the road all day, we choose not to drive to the top. All the more reason to return another time!

We’re told that at its 10,678-foot summit, the mountain offers panoramic vistas that extend across the desert floor all the way to Albuquerque, the Rio Grande and sacred Mt. Taylor beyond. A tram that takes 15 minutes to get to its destination carries visitors through four life zones as it makes its way up jagged peaks, often pink in the late afternoon sun.

On the same road, we do have a quick “look-see” at an oddball phenomenon called The Tinkertown Museum. Perhaps one could call it a temple to one man’s efficient use of leisure time. The late Ross Ward, an artist and sign painter, was also a master whittler and creative engineer. Over a period of 40 years, he carved thousands (one source says 20,000) of elaborate miniature figures and dioramas out of wood, some that he animated with tiny levers and pulleys. A western town springs to life with rowdy characters while a three-ring circus features the Fat Lady and a teeter-totter polar bear.

Outside, undulating walls made of bottles (the same source says 50,000) and studded with rusty, weather-beaten collectibles of all kinds emerge from the woods like a tangle of kudzu. Bizarre, really, but the lay-out, both inside and out, is surely a remarkable example of pure folk art.

For more information: www.turquoisetrail.org or www.nmtourism, then click on links/sights and attractions/scenic byways, Turquoise Trail.