A tin can and fingernails

Travelers disembark from a tour bus at Ortega's Indian Arts travel center in Gallup, N.M.

Giant size arrows in the parking lot give the illusion that an old fashion massacre has just

occurred. That's the type of fun a person doesn't even need to pay for.

GALLUP, N.M.—It seems that many tourists don't end up in Gallup by their own free will. The majority, it seems, get herded into Gallup as part of package tours that promise to expose travelers to authentic Indian jewelry and a taste of the old West. Others are diverted from their travels simply out of necessity—for gasoline stops, restroom breaks, court summonses, that type of thing. We, on the other hand, regularly visit Gallup on our own terms because we like it. Or maybe that's just the donut talking.

Clover Club chili chips and orange and black
cherry sodas.

I've been traveling through Gallup since I was a kid. A long time ago I remember going into the storied city with my father. We had been traveling on old Route 66 when the American Bar beckoned him off of the road to stretch his legs and enjoy some old fashioned refreshment. I remember him sitting at one of the small tables with a Tom Collins in one hand and some fresh fry bread in the other. The place was packed with people. I tried hard not to look at any of them very carefully because most of the clientele was drunk.

Gallup's High Desert Trail System rocks!

I enjoyed a virgin Tom Collins and surreptitious sips of Dad's real one. That was big living for an eight year old. Later, after Dad had gotten pretty loaded off of multiple cocktails and the chips and salsa had run out, we left the bar and wandered the streets. Dad ended up bewitching an Indian vagrant who recited Shakespeare. Dad rewarded the man's folly with a can of refried beans, which the hungry fellow attempted to scratch open. I had never seen someone hungry enough to try and outsmart a tin can with fingernails before, and I've never seen it since.

The whole scene made me very uncomfortable, but I was glad that Dad had the good sense to check us in to the El Rancho motel that night and spare us from becoming a highway statistic of the worst kind. I stayed far away from Gallup after that, remembering the place as a haven of bars and drunken natives who roamed the streets. 

Beautiful singletrack in the Zuni Mountains

After I started mountain biking, I learned to like Gallup. The city has gone through a renaissance of sorts. The streets are cleaned up and mostly free of drunks. Adventure tourism is now as big of a draw as Indian jewelry for outside visitors. Gallup's High Desert Trail system is world renowned now, and the new Zuni Mountain Trails are home to a successful 24-hour endurance race and frequent out-of-town visitors.

The New Gallup awakened a sense nostalgia in me and I found myself purchasing fruit-flavored soda pop and Clover Club potato chips at one of the local stores as a post-ride treat. On our last day there we got up at the crack of dawn and drove back out to the Zuni Mountains to ride out there one last time before winter.

There is no exaggeration available to properly express how good this
thing tasted after a 17-mile mountain bike ride first thing in the
morning.

On the way out of town we stopped by Glen's Bakery for a raised donut adorned with frosting that was as pink as a baboon's ass. It was the best donut I've had in years. We left town without giving away any of our canned goods and without hearing someone recite telepathically implanted plays written by the Bard. That's big living for a 50 year old.

See you on down the road.