Email this article

High Desert Adrenaline

Albuquerque's taste for adventure is no urban myth

By Erinn Morgan

Speeding down HIGHWAY 550 South, I'm driving about as fast as anyone can legally go in the mostly major-highway-less confines of the Four Corners. After going no more than the prescribed 35 mph around my home in Durango for the past few months, the momentum feels good. Real good. My foot falls harder onto the pedal, urging the car to go faster.

My destination is Albuquerque, and my goal is to gauge the outdoor sports capacity of this urban sprawl. As the reservation and pueblo scenery rolls by, I'm wondering how New Mexico's largest city could possibly merit the moniker of "adventure town."

So it seems that many a city with a mountain nearby and some singletrack in the vicinity is latching onto this ubiquitous, visitor-enhancing marketing term. Still, the weekend laid out before me holds the promise of hot-air balloons, mountain biking, rock climbing, and hiking, all within arm's reach of the city center.

A propitious lineup for any adventuring Four Corners town, let alone one that houses almost 800,000 residents. Will it deliver? For now, I check into the hotel and fall into bed to rest up for the action-packed days ahead.

Wicker Baskets and Propane

I roll over to grope the snooze button in the pitch-black room as the alarm jolts me awake. It's 4:30 a.m. - the witching hour for hot air ballooners. Alas, they tell me an insanely early morning start is necessary to catch the more mellow air currents that are desirable for hot-air ballooning.

I'm not sure if this Albuquerque rite of passage is a sport, actually, or just a testament to one's ability to toss off any internal fear of heights. But, my stomach has butterflies nonetheless.

Within an hour, I'm standing in a group behind three massive, deflated balloons; we're the crew that, along with a few key experts from the local Rainbow Ryders, Inc., is about to do the inflating. A pack of people grab bulky ropes to help hold the balloon open to receive the hot air. The pilot fires up the propane burner and shoots a 15-foot flame straight into the opening, while huge fans on the ground blow air inwards.

The rest of the group cringes and falls backwards as the heat becomes intense, the noise palpable. Suddenly, the entire balloon lifts upright and the crew scurries us up and over the tall edge of the wicker basket, which is still secured to the ground with ropes.

My heart is pounding, but there's no going back without humiliation at this point - a fate potentially worse than death by hot air balloon. Ignoring all our weight, the balloon rises effortlessly - the pilot suggests that it can climb at 800 feet per minute. Soon, we are floating over the Rio Grande and descending so low that I can actually see the bottom of the river and a gaggle of newborn ducklings. The wind is delightfully calm and the experience is silent sans for the occasional blast of propane needed to keep the balloon afloat. It is truly peaceful.

But up and away we go, finally topping out at nearly 3,000 feet above ground - a point that warrants the pilot reporting our location to air traffic control. My stomach lurches again; the houses below look like dots.

Due to unpredictable wind currents, locating the landing site in hot air ballooning is a crapshoot at best, which is why a chase team is careening through the downtown streets attempting to follow our path.

"There are two types of landings," warns the pilot as he aims for an open dirt field just off the highway. "Helicopter, which comes straight down, and airplane, which drags in on the side. We'll shoot for the former." And, helicopter he did deliver, with one knee-knocking bump upon landing. I was the first out of the wicker basket and onto terra firma. I now understand why they call it a "once-in-a-lifetime" experience.

Terra Firma and Trails

With hot air ballooning under my belt, I was back on solid ground and embracing the idea of the afternoon's mountain bike tour. After a tasty and environmentally conscious lunch at the Flying Star Caf�, where local, organic foods take center stage, our crew headed to the Elena Gallegos trail in the Sandia Mountain foothills. From downtown Albuquerque, this jaunt took no more than 15 minutes, a respectable trail-access timeframe for any city-dwelling cyclist.

Stephen Williamson, our tour guide and the owner of locally based Active Knowledge, welcomed us with a flurry of local cycling factoids. Not only did professional cycling's Team Astana choose to train in Albuquerque in 2008 because of the altitude and mild weather, he said, but this city had real cycling soul. Any given week boasts group rides, local races, and fun tours with clubs like Dreamcatchers, a local 40-plus women's riding organization.

Outfitted with mountain bikes from the popular Albuquerque shop, The Bike Coop, we embarked on a ride with the effervescent Williamson. The Elena Gallegos trail system features rolling, buffed, and entertaining singletrack. It also happened to be relatively uncrowded. Intermittent technical sections kept my brain engaged, while rollers and twisting turns delivered unadulterated fun.

This trail area was developed by the City of Albuquerque Open Space Division. The bonus here for hikers is that Elena Gallegos butts right up to the pristine USFS Sandia Mountain Wilderness Area, where miles of trails wind through more than 37,000 acres of tightly treed forest. Both day hikes and overnight backpacking treks, some of which follow routes at upwards of 10,000 feet, are easily accessible from Albuquerque's downtown environs.

Those who prefer a scenic lift to the top can catch the Sandia Peak Tramway, located just a few minutes east of downtown Albuquerque. It tops out at the 10,378-foot Sandia Peak and, at 2.7 miles long, this is the world's longest aerial tramway; it ascends 4,000 feet in 15 minutes and passes over the Sandia Mountain Wilderness.

The views are spectacular and riders are dropped off at the summit, which has easy access to additional hiking and biking trails on the mountain's backside, where the Sandia Peak ski resort is also located. In fact, in the winter, this mountain delivers 200 skiable acres and 30 trails, a full 65 percent of which are considered "more difficult" or "most difficult."

At day's end, I fall into bed, my body gratefully sinking into the mattress. I am tired, but my mind races and rewinds through all the events that had been packed into the day. I remain impressed with Albuquerque's close-proximity trail system and Wilderness Area. As for ballooning, it's a rush, but I think I'll focus on keeping my feet planted on Mother Earth in the future.

Hoodoos and Holds

In the morning, we drive just 52 miles north of Albuquerque to hike in the Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument, a remarkable area filled with cone-shaped "tent rocks" and undulating recreation trails. These formations, which range from a few feet to 90 feet in height, are the result of volcanic eruptions that occurred six to seven million years ago. Today, some of the hoodoos here still feature precariously perched boulder caps that protect the softer pumice and tuff deposits material below.

At the trailhead, we are met by a member of the local Pueblo Cochiti; he has come out to explain the importance of this special land to his people. So it seems, during the 14th and 15th centuries, several large ancestral pueblos were established here - their descendents are the Pueblo Cochiti. Today, the area is managed by the BLM in partnership with the Pueblo Cochiti.

With a feeling of reverence, our group heads out on the Canyon Trail, a three-mile out-and-back trek that has been designated a National Recreation Trail. It flows through the valley and then dips into a narrow canyon that eventually climbs up a steep 630-foot ascent to reach the mesa top.

The trail quickly reveals the towering hoodoos, which look otherworldly and stark against the desert landscape. We head into the canyon, which is about 15 degrees cooler, and revel in the winding and undulating, narrow path. After some time, the ascent starts abruptly and the huffing and puffing begins. Nature's StairMaster is far better than any gym; the sun shines down on us from a bluebird sky.

When we reach the top, the stellar view becomes quite apparent. We have an excellent perch to see the Sangre de Cristo, Jemez, and Sandia mountains. A perfect place to sit, relax, and contemplate amongst the hoodoos. As we head back down to the car, the group is quiet, either tired or introspective.

The next and final adventure stop on my tour was to grab a few hours of rock climbing with a guide in the Sandias. I am not an experienced climber, so this will be more of a learning experience for me. We head up Highway 14, park near a ranger station, grab our gear, and walk a few hundred yards to a popular climbing spot with a few intermediate routes.

Our instructor Alan, who works for local outfit Suntoucher Mountain Guides, says that we'll be climbing on limestone, but the Albuquerque area also boasts multi-pitch climbing on granite and also some volcanic rock.

Apparently, this city also attracts hardcore climbers with everything from moderate climbs to grade III and IV multi-pitch granite routes (5.8 to 5.11) high in the Sandia Mountains. Mountaineers also get into the action with low 4th- and easy 5th-class climbs up to 2,000 feet in length, complete with amazing views and adrenaline-pumping exposure. Much of this terrain is easily accessible by car or off the Sandia Peak Tramway.

I am geared up and beginning my first route. My biceps burn, my fingers feel raw, and I remember why I don't climb all that much. It's hard work. I stuff my fingers in a crack to lift my body up to reach out for the next foothold. There it is. Ah, I see up and over the top; I am finished. I fall back and enjoy the ride down.

As we drive back into Albuquerque, I realize my legs are sore, my arms ache, and my fingers are cut up. Yet, I felt really, really good. After a few days out from behind the computer and into the wilds of Albuquerque, I realize a forced schedule of adventure has done me right. And, from where I sit (aches and pains inclusive), the verdict is that Albuquerque stands on its own outdoor merits.

Info Box: Kitsch and Culture

While it's still visibly steeped in local culture and rooted in its own retro "Route 66" history, Albuquerque is also breaking out with a side of modernity. As a "recovered" New Yorker who found a better life in the Four Corners, I still enjoy a city fix every once in a while. Much to my surprise, during a few recent trips to Albuquerque, I got just that.

New and unique food is high on the list of "fixes" to sate. Downtown Albuquerque's Noodle Bar delivered with generous portions of inventive Asian food served up by a young, female chef. The prices are right and the menu ranges from fresh spring rolls and pad Thai to Japanese Udon and Vietnamese pho.

The relatively new Nob Hill Bar & Grill, located near the University of New Mexico, steps up the cool factor a notch but still serves a reasonably priced array of casual menu items like the prime rib roll, shrimp corn dogs, and bacon-wrapped trout.

Locating lodging is an interesting endeavor in a town replete with chain hotels that line the Interstates 25 and 40. But, salvation exists. The funky Casas de Suenos B&B is just a little more spendy than the average chain hotel, but is worth every penny. Even though located near the downtown historic district, this adobe-style compound remains secluded and magical. It was originally built in the '30s and '40s as a place of relaxation for artists; today, that peaceful aura remains with quiet courtyards filled with flowers, spacious and comfortable rooms, and a full, fresh breakfast served in the inn's sunroom.

There is no question that Albuquerque is stepping out with a new, hip attitude. You just might have to dig a little deeper to find it.

A survivor of the urban jungle of Manhattan, today Erinn Morgan is rooted in Durango but still revels in the occassional trip back to the big city. Her work appears regularly in Bike and 5280.