The Generosity of Pie Town

I left Gila National Forest and headed into the unknown on highway 152-- a last minute chosen highway-- heading north east. I drove up to a scenic lookout en route where I met a cyclist who told me about an RV park in the historic town of Hillsboro, New Mexico where he had met the nice lady who owned the place who had cut him a deal.

At this point, despite my showering in a cold water pump outside the Middle Fork trailhead, I was pretty desperate for a real shower (which I had not had in a whole week). So the idea of an RV park that had showers and an even more exciting laundromat, really appealed to me. I didn't tell the cyclist, but I was pretty sure that the woman who owned the park in Hillsboro could have charged me whatever amount she would have liked for me to camp and I would have paid it. Excited, I drove down from the Gila mountains and towards the sleepy, western town of Hillsboro. Driving through this former gold rush mining town was like a stepping back into the 1860s. I saw men sitting outside saloons in full cowboy attire. I mean full cowboy attire: hat, boots, chaps, spurs, plaid shirt, everything. They were as grizzled as the landscape was dusty. I drove very slowly through since I was looking for an RV park, but it didn't matter since there was no traffic besides me.

Finally, I found it and when I stepped out of my car to enquire about a cabin for rent I was slapped full in the face by the immensity of the dry, desert heat. It was extremely arid. It was the zenith of the day and it was unbearable. Inside, I found a friendly woman who was very welcoming and wizened and when I told her a bit about my journey and meeting the cyclist up the road she lit up and said "ah yes! he was a great kid." Then she gave me a stern look and asked like a worried mother, "you're not hitchhiking across the US are ya?" I was a bit confused since I was only caring a very small backpack to walk into the shop. "Uh, no, I'm driving across the US and camping out of my car," I responded. "Oh! Alright then, a cabin rental is 15 dollars," she said and it included unlimited showers and there was a coin operated laundry room. I was elated. I booked my little cabin and started sorting out all my clothes to wash.

My cabin was basic but it came with an air conditioning unit and I was excited that I would get to sleep in a real bed. When I was in the laundry room I met an older woman with a cane who was also camping out of her Volvo across America but her reasons were very different and they humbled me a bit. She said she was disabled and so wasn't able to drive for long stretches at a time and she wasn't able to afford booking long stays in hotels along the route so she was forced to stay at RV parks where it was cheaper and with accessibility for the disabled. This helped me to recognize that being able-bodied made me privileged to rough camp for fun, if I wanted to, and not out of necessity.

The next morning, after I had cleaned my clothes and cleaned myself I decided to leave Hillsboro very early and continue a sort of roundabout route as I meandered up the state towards Santa Fe where I was going to pick up my friend Hailey on the 7th of June to do a weekend's worth of backpacking. I still had three nights before then so I decided I'd take my chances and drive to Pie Town on the map, which I was fairly sure, although not certain, that Pie Town was on the Continental Divide Trail, which is a 3,000+ mile trail that goes up the center of America from New Mexico to Montana. I thought this because one of the social media influencers that I subscribe to is called Dixie and she is a triple crowned hiker (that means she's completed the AT, the PCT and the CDT) who I thought I remembered had traveled through Pie Town and spoken highly of it. I was also fairly certain they'd have actual pie, though again not totally sure.

I was right on both fronts. Though as I drove first to Socorro which is a town smack dab in the center of the state with a lot of references to outer space and alien invaders on display throughout the town, I noticed on the horizon that there were very dark, huge and rolling storm clouds in the direction I wanted to drive. But I kept going anyway, and sure enough around the time I got to Pie Town it was hailing massively onto my windshield. It was so intense that I had to pull over, which I'm now grateful for because I think if it hadn't have been such a bad storm I would have kept driving and passed Pie Town (sometimes I get a bit restless in my car and feel the need to bypass otherwise really cool things). So I saw a little Pie Town pie pallor and I decided to get a cup of coffee and a piece of pie.

The restaurant was called Pie Town Cafe and it was adorable. The woman who works there makes all the pies from scratch and they are divine looking and tasting. I asked her for her recommendation and she chose for me a cherry and cream cheese slice of pie. I try to be as vegan as possible but when traveling I often make exceptions for cases like these (but only exceptions with dairy, I will never eat meat again). The restaurant also has a full menu and if you're a hiker you get a piece of pie to go for free. I told them I was just camping out of my car and not a CDT hiker but they told me that still counted and gave me a piece of pie for free anyway.

While I was inside the cafe, I met Joe and Lilliana, a 60 year old couple from Denver, Colorado who were seated at the booth behind me wearing full lycra cycle gear. They were cycling across America over two months on the Continental Divide cycle route, which is slightly different than the hiking trail, though they overlap a lot. Joe and Liliana told me about a free hostel in town called The Toaster House, now I almost want to not write about The Toaster House and help preserve its specialness but I think the secret is pretty much already out.

The house belonged to a woman who raised five children in it during the 70s and 80s before she dedicated the whole house for the use of CDT hikers. It's free and runs on donations. But beyond just being a free hostel, it has everything you could need if you were hiking a 3000 mile trail and hadn't had a rest for about a month hiking through the hottest part of southern New Mexico. The house has running hot and cold water, flushing toilets, electricity, in addition to pantries full of food and supplies, used and repurposed gear, bike repair tools, first aid kit supplies, books, hiking clothes, gas for your camper stove, toothpaste, sunscreen, camping mats, literally everything you could think of that you could possibly need on the trail is there for the taking. This amount of sheer goodness and generosity blew my mind. The house doesn't have any locks so anyone can come in to spend the night, cook a hot meal and take a shower at any time. It's absolutely lovely. Oh, they also had a fridge full of beer.

That night I shared a meal with Joe and Lilliana while they told me stories about their life. They are originally from Colombia and so are filming a youtube movie of their journey in Spanish to inspire some of their friends and family back in Colombia to take on long distance cycling, which they told me is not yet very popular in South America. I was also impressed that beyond just cycling for 3000 miles they were also carrying 50 pound trailers behind their bikes with all their equipment. They had just welcomed new twin grand babies and were missing spending time with their daughter and the twins, but I told them that the children would be so impressed with their grandparents later for what they were doing now.

Joe and Liliana were lovely to meet and I enjoyed their tales and kindness. The Toaster House itself was so incredibly generous that I am still in awe and can only hope that it can be appreciated by enough people to preserve it and pay it forward while also hoping that no one takes advantage or ruins it.

The world needs more Toaster Houses, especially in America where I am realizing I am only having such good experiences because I've been meeting people through housesitting and couch-surfing and in hiking communities where people are more receptive and used to generosity and impromptu community, but most of America is very isolated. People don't go to a pub after work to socialize, they go home to their big, empty houses and watch the news that tells them how dangerous America is and so they miss out on all the goodness that is everywhere if you look. People in this country are so afraid of strangers that they have forgotten that other people are mostly just like them, with the same worries and hopes and dreams and that if we would be bold enough to share meals together we might learn a lot about our country and ourselves. I'll never forget Pie Town, or Joe and Liliana who invited me to come and visit them in Denver sometime and I might just take them up on it.