I spent about half a decade working in the Insurance Industry, an industry with a significant presence in Bermuda. At workshops, conferences, and in meetings, I would regularly interact with people who lived there. The place certainly has its draw, and with the right opportunity, a person with experience in the industry could make a really good life there, despite the high cost of living.
I often imagine what it would be like to have a totally different life, in a totally different place, particularly when traveling, or when I meet someone from somewhere far away. While working in the insurance industry, although I never seriously considered up and moving to Bermuda, I did imagine what it would be like a couple of dozen times. Each time I imagined it, I would always end up dwelling on the lack of room to roam around there. The island is only 20.6 square miles, and getting anywhere else requires a flight. I pictured myself moving there, getting my swimming trunks out, snorkeling, attending a few parties and such, but then, eventually, just getting restless, and missing something I love to do here in mainland U.S.A.; taking a road trip.
There is something I really love about road trips. When I refer to road trips, I am not talking about simply driving somewhere. A lot of people drive to work every day, or to a relative’s house every other weekend, and those drives don’t feel like “road trips”. I’m talking about driving somewhere a significant distance away that is not a routine trip; somewhere that is somewhat unknown. On road trips, we have somewhat of an idea as to what to expect, based on what we have heard, read, or researched, but we do not know it intimately. We have not experienced the towns we will pass along the way, which exits have the best deals on gas, and where the best restaurants are. In other words, there are still some surprises, and we are still going to encounter something unexpected.
Driving south along I-25, the first indication that one is reaching the Southernmost portion of Colorado is the Spanish Peaks. While visible farther north, they take prominence south of Pueblo. The Spanish Peaks are nowhere near the tallest features in Southern Colorado. In fact, within 30 miles or so, there are 5 mountains taller than 14,000 feet (14ers)! But, since they are relatively isolated from other natural features, and can be seen quite some distance, they are a prominent landmark toady (an entire region is named Spanish Peaks country, as well as the names of countless business in the region), and were a prominent landmark on the old Santa Fe Trail.
Approaching Trinidad, CO, the last town before the New Mexico border, the Spanish Peaks disappear from the horizon as the highway enters a much hillier region approaching Raton Pass. It is here that the path of Interstate 25 joins with the old Santa Fe Trail, which it will more or less follow for the remainder of the trip to Santa Fe. This trail was first pioneered by the Spanish and later played a pivotal role in American history including westward expansion, and the eventual conquest of the Southwest from Mexico.
I had mixed expectations of Raton Pass. Many years back, I was on a ten-day storm chase. Our group was situated in Clovis, New Mexico, which is quite close to the Texas-New Mexico border. We were discussing the possibility of chasing upslope storms roughly an hour northeast of Denver the following day. Some of us brought up the possibility of driving west to Raton so we can take the Interstate to our target destination, but the group leader balked at the idea, instead suggesting driving up 385, as he felt it might be risky to take a large convoy of chase vehicles over Raton Pass. We ended up deciding not to drive up to Northeastern Colorado, as, in the morning, the storm outlook had weakened, and we no longer felt it worth the drive. By the way, this is common on storm chases, you really never know where you will end up going. However, ever since then, I had kind of wondered what it was like to drive over this pass.
As the photos indicate, the road gets windy as motorists climb from Trinidad, at roughly 6000′ in elevation, over Raton Pass, which tops out at 7834′. It’s definitely not nearly as rough as heading over the Rocky Mountains along I-70 or I-80, but definitely is a much more major incline than anything a group of people that drives largely in the Great Plains from Texas up to South Dakota would typically experience.
Oh, and in one of the strangest of coincidences, the top of the pass is right at the border of Colorado and New Mexico. This is odd as, first of all, the Colorado-New Mexico border is defined as the 37th parallel, and has nothing to do with where any mountain pass is located, and roads through mountain passes are built to take the safest and most effective route. The fact that the place where this road crosses the 37th parallel most effectively happens to also be the high point seems to me as a pure coincidence. Maybe someday I will read into this, the story behind the road and such, but I have yet to do so.
After a descent into Raton, the road reaches a segment that is long, flat, open, and rather empty.
I switched the music on the radio to classic rock, The Clash, Ozzy, Queensryche and such. For some reason, there is something about the sound of guitar rock that makes more sense while driving through scenery like this than many other forms of music. As the afternoon passed along this landscape, cloudy skies gave way to peaks from the sun only every once in a while. A few periods of gentile, chilly rain fell from the skies. In some ways it reminded me of a storm chase gone horribly wrong, the day slowly but surely slipping away with no prospects of favorable storm conditions developing. However, in other ways, the drive was relaxing, allowing me to think without any distractions.
After passing through a town called Las Vegas, NM (which I assure you is nothing like the Las Vegas in Nevada), the highway turns West. It kind of loops the last 60 or so miles into Santa Fe, even heading back northward for the last ten miles, following the route of the old Santa Fe trail. However, unlike the previous 100 or so miles, this part of the trail, and the drive, is far from flat.
To the right, is the southernmost part of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, and an area now part of the Santa Fe National Forest. It is these mountains that the trail routed 19th century pioneers around. To the left are a series of bluffs which, luckily, the trail did not have to also bypass, as it would have added many more miles to the journey. The road itself slowly climbs over Glorietta Pass, descending only slightly into New Mexico’s Capitol City- Santa Fe.
The Action Story 
