Cerrillos is the sleepy older sibling of Madrid, a dusty, unhurried little place a short ride away that feels like a film set because it has been used as one. Its wide main street of adobe and wooden storefronts, its church, and its dry hills all suggest the nineteenth-century frontier, and the village makes little effort to dress it up. Chickens, dogs, and cats are more in evidence than crowds, and that is part of the pleasure.
The reason there is a town at all is the rock. The low hills around here have been mined for turquoise for centuries, long before the Spanish arrived, and the Pueblo peoples traded the blue-green stone widely across the Southwest. Later came silver, lead, and coal, and the village boomed and faded as each ran out. Cerrillos Hills State Park, just beside the village, protects some of the old workings and has trails across the hills, with views toward the Sandias and the Ortiz range. A short walk is a good way to get a sense of the landscape's long history.
For a rider, the access is a short spur off the Turquoise Trail. The road in is narrow and quiet, and the village streets are slow, with gravel at the edges and the occasional pothole. It is a place to dawdle, not to hurry. The surrounding country is classic high desert: scattered piñon and juniper, red earth, and the kind of enormous sky that makes distances hard to judge. Late afternoon light on the hills is excellent, and the air smells of dust and sage after rain.
Cerrillos has a few small shops and cafes, but no real services for a motorcycle. Fuel is a matter for Santa Fe or one of the larger communities to the north or south; Eldorado is the nearest town of any size, about twenty kilometres away. Bring water, especially in summer, when the sun is fierce, and check the sky in the afternoon, when storms can build quickly over the mountains. Spring and autumn are the kindest seasons, and a winter morning can be crisp, bright, and almost empty of traffic.