mad. rid.

So it goes beyond all of  my formal training and street cred to say Madrid (read like: I am mad. I can't seem to get rid of these pesky mustard stains).  I went with my aunt to hear for myself and, bless their hearts, that is how they pronounce it in New Mexico.  Throw it in the bucket with Santa Fe, Tennessee and Amarillo, Texas and Louisville, Colorado and... if you're from anythere, or if you've been anythere, you know the theres that I am talking about.

The little gaggle of houses and a once-was coal mine is found tucked in a curve along the Turquoise Trail between Albuquerque and Santa Fe.  Precious. And well worth a visit.  It is full of little art galleries and a couple of dueling coffee shops; this little town sees no less than 20,000 people a year according to some local artists. And the locals, though scarce, do exist. If you care to rise early with the sun you can catch a few of them in Java Junction getting their cuppa joe. I am seriously considering applying for my residency.

All the smears of blue that so beautifully mimicked the heavens that day reminded me of my blue bike momma.  Suggestion: eat at the Hollar... another chance at rubbing elbows with the regulars and to grab a (locally bred) buffalo burger, it comes on a biscuit. And sub the fries for the okra... I am the final word on that particular veggie and I say sí.