750 Feet Under

Several million years ago, percolating water and sulfuric acid ate away at the limestone underneath Carlsbad, New Mexico, forming what is now Carlsbad Caverns National Park. Today, an elevator takes you down 750 feet, to a self-guided path through majestic caverns covered by stalactites, stalagmites, "soda straws," "draperies" and other magical formations.

The caverns encompass vast caves, both developed and undeveloped. The main chamber -- "Big Room" -- is the most accessible (even to wheelchairs). Measuring 1800 feet by 1000 feet, with the ceiling in some spots reaching to nearly 300 feet, "Big Room" is aptly named. The walkway wends around the perimeter of the chamber, revealing exotic sights both minute and grand.

Glittering calcite stalactites dripping from the ceiling, popcorn-like rocks covering the ground, the enormity of it all dwarfing you . . . words can't capture the awe one feels.

The most surreal aspect of the experience for me was the uncanny feeling that I was underwater. Gazing up at arching ceilings, looking down on formations reminiscent of coral reefs, following the undulating currents of the path, perceiving the not-unpleasant sensation of being enclosed, I could not help but feel I was scuba diving through some fantastic undersea landscape.

Leaving Santa Fe, I finally pointed my trusty steed west and began the slow return back, heading for Arizona. I chose a small mountain road south from Santa Fe, taking a scenic detour to Sandia Peak, a 10,378-foot mountain overlooking Albuquerque and western New Mexico. I had hoped to combine this detour with another winding road down the mountain, but the road dead-ended at the summit. No matter, the 50-mile views were worth the extra driving.

Continuing on, I quickly moved through Albuquerque and headed south, then west. As I crossed the mountains of western New Mexico, I came over a rise and plunged into a wide valley. There, lined up like white tin soldiers, stood the 27 antennas of the Very Large Array of the National Radio Astronomy Observatory. With each dish measuring over 80 feet in diameter and weighing 230 tons, the VLA presented a very impressive sight, even from miles away.

I've wanted to see the VLA since long before the movie Contact made it famous. I don't know whether it's a fascination with the site's mission—to seek out the mysteries of the universe—or simply awe of the monumental, Christ-like scale of the array. Whatever it is, standing in the shadows of these gargantuan seekers of knowledge was the realization of a long-awaited dream.