Note: all photos taken by Selena Templeton, unless otherwise noted.
Two things I’d been thinking about a lot lately: how to actually go “off the grid” for a short while and why I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a teenager. These may seem like two separate time-wasting thoughts, but they actually intersected and became my dude ranch vacation.
When I was a kid and teen, my brother and I would spend time during the summers at our grandparents’ farm where, when I wasn’t busy puncturing my bro’s hand with a baling hook or playing hide-and-seek in the barn by myself, I was learning to ride a horse. I absolutely loved everything about it, so much so that I didn’t go horseback riding for my entire adult life.
When I realized this, I pounced on Google and started querying “horse riding vacation” and “guest ranch vacation” and eventually found Geronimo Trail Guest Ranch in New Mexico. I scoured the website, talked to one half of the married-couple-owners and booked a week’s stay in early November (one of the few adults-only spots available).
“Be sure to print out a map,” the owner told me. “We’re out in the middle of the Gila Forest and have zero cell reception or Wi-Fi.”
And that is how horseback riding and going off the grid intersected and became one of my favorite trips ever.
Tombstone, Arizona: Heart of the Wild West
Having decided to drive the 767 miles (~13 hours) from Los Angeles, California to Geronimo Trail Guest Ranch in New Mexico, I need a place at the halfway mark to stop for the night. And Tombstone, AZ is the perfect solution. Considering that I am going to spend a week on a ranch pretending to be a bona fide cowgirl, a town that is steeped in Old West history couldn’t be more appropriate.
Just as I am tiring of the freeway billboards for “REALLY GOOD FRESH JERKY!” – not excellent, just really good; I admire their honesty – along the 10 East, I see signs for 80 South, and twenty minutes later I am checking in at the Tombstone Boarding House Inn.
I am greeted out front by Jean, the proprietor, who shows me to my room: the Telegraph Office. This is right next to the Sheriff’s Office and the Jail. She and her husband tell me some historical stories (like the jail, i.e. guest room, still has bullet holes from a jealousy-fueled-rage shooting a hundred and fifty years ago). They also provide a map with best places to eat, shop and see ghosts.
I walk the three blocks into town and voila! I am transported back to the 1880s: dirt street, boardwalk, and plenty of saloons (like Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, owned by Doc Holliday’s girlfriend). I indulge in a walking historical tour of the town called Gunfighter and Ghost Tour which Laura, the guide, kindly allows me to join at the last minute without a reservation when I slip her a few greenbacks.
Tombstone is the location of the famous gunfight at the O.K. Corral in which Virgil, Morgan and Wyatt Earp plus Doc Holliday faced off against the Clanton gang at 3:00 p.m. on Wednesday, October 26, 1881. Hence, the townspeople have claimed to see or feel the presence of many ghosts over the last century and a half.
Truth or Consequences (The Town, not the Drinking Game)
The next day, four hours after leaving Tombstone, I reach Truth or Consequences, NM, the last town before heading into the Gila (pronounced HEEL-uh) Forest to the ranch. Most of the drive is across the flat desert, so the lone rock formation about fifty feet high on which someone has carefully stenciled “FRAGGLE ROCK” catches my eye.
I kind of expect Truth or Consequences to live up to its provocative name, but alas, the only provocative thing about it is its name:
“The town's name was changed from ‘Hot Springs’ to ‘Truth or Consequences’ on March 31, 1950, after Ralph Edwards, the host of the popular game show Truth or Consequences called for any town in America to [change its name to the name of the show].”
As instructed, I fill up my gas tank and call the ranch so they know when to expect me, since very soon I will not be able to use my phone (or the GPS, which is why I have a paper map lying on the seat beside me).
I head west on the 52, then the 59 (crossing the Continental Divide), and then south on the 61. Gorgeous drive, one lane each direction, zero traffic. The 61 is gravel, so the last eight miles takes twenty head-rattling minutes. Finally, I am here.
Geronimo Trail Guest Ranch: My Dude Ranch Vacation!
I arrive at the ranch and am directed to my living quarters – one of four guest cabins. I park, step out of the car, and inhale the scent of fresh horse manure. Ahhh! The ranch has about 25-30 horses, and several of them are in a field right outside my window.
I get settled. The cabin is cozy, rustic and well-insulated – an adjective that proves to be very important that night. The daytime high is about mid-sixties (upper teens in Celsius) and the nighttime low is just above freezing (just above freezing in Celsius). On the table is a jar of homemade chocolate chip cookies along with a risk waiver (for the horseback riding, not the cookies).
When the other guests arrive (Scott and Donna, a married couple from Arizona who run a popular pizza joint, and Nomi and Shelly, two cousins from Kentucky who go on a different dude ranch vacation every year), we get a tour of the ranch and then dinner is served. Or rather: Fred the chef rings a triangle to let you know that dinner is now ready to be self-served. Some of us eat inside, some of us eat outside, but wherever you are sitting one thing is consistent: the food is DELICIOUS.
After dinner, we stand around the bonfire chatting in the cold, and it feels like camp: a bunch of strangers in the dark, surrounded by woods, with a thick blanket of stars above us about to embark on a new adventure together.
Before retiring to my cabin, I walk away from the others and just stand there staring up at the sky. My instinct is to want to take a photo of the starry night with the Milky Way clearly visible, and I take out my phone, but then I remember my desire to get off the grid. Not that I have a choice here – no cell or internet service – but something about my phone just sucks me into my regular, connected, busy, working life.
So I put my phone back into my pocket and just allow myself to experience this moment without having to document it.
First Day of Horseback Riding in the Gila National Forest
The next morning I wake up half an hour before Fred the chef rings the triangle, which is surprising for me, a chronic but involuntary early riser.
Someone reminds me later that the high elevation – we’re at about 7,600 feet – is conducive to a great night’s sleep because there is less oxygen in the air. “So basically,” I deduce, “I passed out last night.”
I look at the clock and do some complex math on my fingers. Did I just awake from a deep, ten-hour sleep? What is this magical place??
I quickly get ready for my first day of riding and dress in: boots, Wrangler jeans (the single, instead of usual double, inseam makes for less chafing), padded bicycle shorts, long-sleeved t-shirt, plaid button-up shirt, lightweight, water-resistant puffer jacket, cowboy hat with stampede string, and sunglasses. I am ready for riding as well as the different variations of weather we are sure to encounter over the course of one day.
After another delicious breakfast, we head down to the stables. It is cold enough to see your breath. Meris, one of the owners of the ranch and head wrangler (not a wrangler of heads, the main wrangler on this ranch) gives us a horse riding tutorial and then we are all assigned one of these beautiful animals. Mine is a Palomino Appaloosa named Dreamer (palomino = pale gold horse with white mane and tail and appaloosa = dark spots on a light background).
For the first time in about thirty years, I get on a horse: Left foot in stirrup, left hand on mane and reins, right hand on far side of pommel, throw my right leg up and over the saddle. I’m on! Wow, I’d forgotten how high up you are when on a horse. I move off to the side and wait for everyone else to mount their horses, and to be honest I’m kind of surprised when I “steer” Dreamer and he immediately responds. I sit there grinning and someone takes a photo of me.
We head out for our first ride and I’m a bit…well, not exactly nervous, but definitely very aware. Particularly when going downhill because when Dreamer’s head and neck dip low suddenly all I can see is the very steep hill and I’m thinking What’s preventing me from sliding off the saddle, over Dreamer’s head and tumbling down the slope? When Dreamer stumbles on a loose rock, my heart skips a beat and my head immediately conjures an image of falling off and then being crushed beneath 1,000 pounds of frightened horse.
But within 15-20 minutes I feel very comfortable and relaxed on the horse and the worst-case-scenario images disappear. Dreamer, as I will come to learn, is a very stable and cautious horse and I quickly feel completely safe on him.
We do a 2-hour ride in the morning – gorgeous views! Gila Forest as far as the eye can see! This land is where Geronimo, the famous Chiricahua Apache warrior who was the most feared Native American leader in the 1800s, is from. His birth name was Goyahkla (“The One Who Yawns”) and I feel a connection with him in this oxygen-depleted environment. We return to the ranch for lunch and a rest, and then go for another 2-hour ride in the afternoon.
I get a front row seat to the incredible landscape: vast meadows of golden grass…
,..thick forests of Ponderosa, Juniper and Piñon trees, deep canyons slicing through mountains with sheer cliffs, creeks and streams that wind across the land. The Gila National Forest is made up of 3.3 million acres of untouched wilderness, in which there are no motorized vehicles, stop lights or telephone wires. Just pristine nature in all its glory.
I also get a front row seat to the fact that horses can poop while walking, as Dreamer tends to tailgate the horse in front of him.
Despite the padded bicycle shorts, my bum bone area is sore, and I sit at the dinner table that night at a forty-five-degree angle to relieve my ass. After dinner, I relax on my cabin’s (heavily cushioned) porch swing, a glass of wine in one hand, a Louis L’Amour book in the other. But I don’t do much reading. I mostly just relive a montage of the day’s adventure with a smile.
Before I go back into the cabin, I turn off the porch light and look up into the sky at the millions of stars. I automatically try to Google “milky way” but can’t, of course. I’m disappointed in myself that I even tried. I shove the technology in my pocket and go inside.
All-Day Horse Ride #1 with a Picnic Lunch and a History Lesson
The next morning I awake late again after another 10-hour sleep (dang! I’d stay here permanently just for the insomnia cure!). I mosey out of my cabin when I hear Fred ring the triangle (nobody seems to hurry on this ranch and I’m learning to follow suit) and enjoy a good, hearty meal in preparation for a long day.
Around the table I learn a bit more about my fellow dudes – as well as the word “dude”:
Back in the 1800s, cowboys used to call city slickers “dudes,” so when ranches started hosting folks who were visiting from the cities, they were known as “dude ranches.”
I am so relieved that the five of us guests all get along, and I can’t help but say my thoughts out loud: “What a relief that none of us are assholes!” Everyone laughs and agrees. Donna asks Meris how she deals with asshole guests, and Meris says that they never get any, probably because a horse ranch in the middle of the Gila Forest with no cell or WiFi connection does not appeal to jackasses.
After a unanimous vote, our little group decides to go on all-day rides for the rest of the week. The daily itineraries are flexible, depending on what the group prefers, and everyone has the option to stay at the ranch and do their own thing if they don’t feel up to a long ride.
Today’s ride takes us to the Dwelling Canyon. We ride across creeks, up hills, down hills, across meadows and through the canyon.
It’s overcast and chilly, then sunny and warm, then sunny and chilly. I’m so comfortable on horseback (and so trusting of Dreamer in particular), that I relax and really take in my surroundings. I hear the occasional metallic “click” of Dreamer’s front hoof knocking against a back hoof as he walks. I quietly giggle to myself because sometimes Dreamer sounds like he’s clearing his throat like a human – a deep “hm-hmmm” – followed by a “blowing a raspberry” sound with his lips. I get accustomed to the feel of Dreamer’s back muscles rhythmically flexing beneath me.
We stop for a picnic lunch of customized sandwiches, fruit and homemade cookies:
Some of the group choose to stay here and rest, while three of us go with two of the ranch hands on a hike to view history close up. We climb up to a cave where the Mimbres peoples lived a thousand years ago:
You can still see smoke from their fires on the cave ceiling and pictographs (rock paintings) on the walls:
After walking a bit further, we climb up into another cave dwelling where the Basque Sheepherders lived one hundred years ago and improved upon the cave’s ventilation system.
Finally, we ride back to the ranch, stopping briefly several times to allow the horses to drink from the creek and stretch out our legs (the knees and ankles get surprisingly cramped).
We also stop so I can take an unscheduled pee break in the bushes. I notice that no one else seems to urinate out in the wild and from this point on I become a sort of forensic investigator, trying to figure out how they manage to drink all that water and not have to pee or, if they do, how they manage to sneak off without my noticing. Does this really matter? Not in the least. But with nothing else to occupy my mind, this is my entertainment.
In the last hour of our 2.5-hour return trip is when my butt and knees start to get really sore, but it’s totally worth it. This has been an incredible day. Back at the ranch, I climb down off my horse and immediately sink to the ground as my legs give out and I don’t even care.
That night after dinner as the others from my group sit outside around the bonfire, I retire early to my cabin and take a long, hot shower, aiming the spray at my butt and knees. Then I take some Arnica Montana to relieve muscle soreness and do some lower-body yoga poses while sipping from my glass of wine. Don’t judge me. It works.
All-Day Horse Ride #2 with a Picnic Lunch and a History Lesson
The second full-day ride starts out wonderfully because my muscle soreness is all gone. (Told you not to judge my previous night’s activities.) We follow the winding creek through Taylor Creek Canyon, including the “Narrows,” which I believe is just the portion of the canyon that gets very narrow.
At one point we travel through a herd of cows who are grazing. We proceed slowly and cautiously, and learn that the last group to ride through here encountered a mischievous and aggressive cow that one of the wranglers had to herd away from the group of horses.
Whenever Dreamer safely takes me through a mucky creek or down and then up a rocky wash without so much as a stumble, I always lean forward and rub his neck and say, “Good boy, Dreamer!” Soon I am absently singing “All I Have to Do Is Dream” every time I do that. Just the chorus, though, which is all I can remember (“Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream, drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream, whenever I want you, all I have to do is drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream”). I’m not nearly as good as the Everly Brothers, which is probably why Dreamer starts giving me the stink eye over his shoulder.
We get to the picnic spot right next to the creek and stop for lunch and a rest. Most of the riders immediately sit down, but my ass is on fire (with muscle soreness, just to be clear), so I walk around and then just stand there gazing at the vast land, thinking about the people who lived here a thousand years ago, and discreetly rubbing my butt. Not so discreetly, as it turns out…
Afterwards, Meris takes a few of us on a short walk up to see some ancient ruins – a Mimbres pit house with bits of pottery from 200-1150 AD strewn about.
It’s hard to see in this picture, but these pottery shards with painted stripes and other designs were pretty impressive. It’s not like these people could just pop into Home Depot and pick up a gallon of paint.
One piece has a thumb indent in it and when I place my own thumb in it, Meris says, “Just think, one thousand years ago, a Mimbres man or woman put their thumb right in that same place.”
When we return to the picnic area, I take a few candid pictures myself. Nomi and Shelly, looking like real cowgirls after a long ride:
Scott, Donna and me on horseback. I tried to take a candid shot over my shoulder, but she was too quick for me:
On the ride back I think about what Meris said and imagine a young Mimbres woman riding her horse through this canyon close to sundown as I am now. Very little has changed in the landscape, so she would be seeing the same creek, the same mountains, the same forest.
Then I spot Donna ahead of me…riding her horse through this canyon close to sundown…
We stop for a leg stretch and Meris’ horse, at the front, lifts his tail at everyone and just starts farting endlessly. I am the only one laughing out loud. I don’t know whether everyone else is too serious, or if I am too childish, but my hysterics make me forget about my sore glutes, knees, ankles, and now back and abs.
That night, I pop some Arnica Montana and then take my glass of wine into the bathroom so I can reach out of the hot shower and drink the pain away. Afterwards, I do fifteen minutes of butt yoga, fall asleep early and do not budge an inch for nine and half hours.
All-Day Horse Ride #3 with a Picnic Lunch and a Forensic Lesson
Our final all-day ride is the longest one we’ve done so far. It’s a 12-or 14-mile round trip that, according to my step-counter, burns nearly 2,000 calories. I’m a little suspicious of that metric, since all I’m doing is sitting, until one of the other group members tells me that horseback riding is actually a great calorie burner because you use so much core strength. I think of my sore abs and back, and now shoulders and arms, and I’m sold. That also explains why I eat as much as a pro athlete all week but don’t gain a pound.
This time about half the ride is through the woods:
I love Dreamer. He’s so cautious when going through creeks or up and down washes. He actually stops, looks down at his feet, then left and right, before crossing any perilous ground. I tell him how much I appreciate him. In song. “Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream, drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream, whenever I want you, all I have to do is drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream.”
Here’s a flip-book of me loving Dreamer:
Today’s ride does not take us to any historical sites, so while everyone else rests, Scott and I go on a long walk to explore the area and stretch our legs. I excuse myself to go to the “women’s restroom” and just as I stand and zip up, I notice a putrid smell. I turn around and there is a rotting carcass in a dry creek bed. I tell Scott who accompanies me back to the crime scene and we try to figure out what kind of animal it is. Was. When we return to the group and tell them, Meris informs us that it’s a bear cub that was shot and beheaded by hunters last week. I feel sick. “I hope Mama Bear attacked them and ripped off their heads,” I mutter.
That night, I take my glass of wine out to the bonfire area where Donna is sitting alone enjoying the crisp evening. We wind up talking for quite some time. Turns out we have many things in common. I think we’d have a lot of fun together if we hung out. It strikes me, as if often does after the fact, that had I been a little more social, I could have gotten to know her better before the last night of the trip.
Then the rest of the group joins us around the fire and we (well, they) sing old cowboy songs while Donna plays the ukulele. I jam my freezing hands into my puffer jacket pockets and stare up at the starry sky.
I haven’t touched my phone all day or thought about my regular life or work or relationships. My mind has been free of compulsive overthinking for nearly a week, something years of meditation has not been able to do. I look over at Meris and consider asking her if they need another permanent ranch hand.
Goodbye Guest Ranch Vacation
Friday morning we have one last delicious breakfast and say our goodbyes. Meris gives us a USB drive with all the pictures she and Seth have been taking all week. It feels sad to leave and I’m not ready to return home.
I’m really interested in the history of this area, and the historical sites that we saw have only whet my appetite, so I decide to extend my vacation and find other cliff dwellings.
Stay tuned to read the second leg of this journey.
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