4k Miles. 6 States. 7 National Parks. 16 Days in a Van – Leg 5
Check out the previous leg of this walking wander here:
Leg 5 Travel Map – 139 miles
Unexpected Furnace Activation and the Question of Destination
I got back in the van after exploring Carlsbad Caverns, and just like that—bam. The furnace was back on. The kind of dry, oppressive heat that makes you want to crawl into a walk-in fridge and stay there forever. I cranked the AC, guzzled water, and sat for a minute, staring at the dashboard. I had no plans beyond this point. Just a vague notion: Get to Santa Fe eventually. But “eventually” definitely wasn’t going to be today.
I was cooked. Not just by the sun, but by the full-day double-header: hiking Guadalupe Mountains in the morning and descending 750 feet into Carlsbad Caverns in the afternoon. It was about 3 PM, and I knew I had maybe two hours of driving in me—tops. So, where to?
A Serendipitous Map Scan Leads to Bottomless Lakes
I opened up the map and scanned for towns between Carlsbad and Santa Fe. One name jumped out: Roswell. As in the Roswell. I remembered a guy I met earlier in the trip at a KOA Kampground—he was wearing a Roswell t-shirt and had gone out of his way to tell me it was worth a stop. At the time, I shrugged it off. I’m not really an aliens-and-conspiracies kind of guy. But now? It was on the way. Two hours away. And I needed a destination.
Seeing Pictures like the one above had me ready to jump in and get wet!
Also, it was hot. Did I mention that? I started daydreaming about swimming again, so I googled “swimming near Roswell” and jackpot—Bottomless Lakes State Park. The photos looked like a mirage: turquoise water ringed by pink and red cliffs, right there in the desert. It looked like the Southwest’s answer to an oasis. Bonus: there were campgrounds nearby.
I punched it into the GPS and started driving. The road to Roswell wasn’t particularly scenic—flat scrublands and wide-open skies—but as I got closer to Bottomless Lakes, things perked up. The terrain shifted from dull to dramatic: eroded cliffs, strange pink rock formations, and scattered farmland with that quiet, rural charm.
Initial Campground Disappointment and a Peaceful Primitive Site
I pulled into Lea Lake Campground and immediately felt the buzz—RVs everywhere. Not great for my odds. Still, I parked and wandered in to see what was what. Lea Lake looked beautiful, and people were swimming, but most of them had that cold-water posture: hunched shoulders, arms wrapped tight. I grabbed my Pixel 9 Pro, flipped on the infrared thermometer, and confirmed it—water temp was about 54°F. Not exactly toasty, but doable with a wetsuit. Just not today. I was too wiped.
I scanned the QR code to check for campsite availability. Full. Ugh. Lea Lake was a developed campground, with proper hookups and everything. Understandable it was booked, but still—disappointing. Started calling RV parks near Roswell just in case. I even found one with availability… but didn’t book it right away. Good call. I learned a lesson at Elephant Butte Lake previously.
As I passed another entrance to Bottomless Lakes, I spotted some big rigs parked by what looked like primitive campsites. Curiosity got the better of me. I took the turn.
The signage wasn’t great, but I kept driving and—score—empty sites. Lots of them. I flagged down a guy walking his dog and asked if he knew the area. He didn’t, but he’d been there a few days and said it was peaceful. He mentioned a sweet little campsite near a private lake had just opened up. None of the sites had hookups, but I never need that anyway. It’s good for the occasional refill of my freshwater tank, but I’m completely independent power wise with my solar and my secondary alternator which can top off my battery zero bank from 50% to full in about an hour.
I found the pay station, scribbled out a permit, dropped my cash in the slot, and claimed the spot. Always a little nerve-wracking—Did I do it right? Is it really mine?—but it felt legit.
My own private “lake” over there on the left. It was a nice place to stay and there was only one other RV amongst 10-12 open sites. What a score.
Evening Exploration, a Scuba Diver Encounter, and Sunset
It was still early—around 5 PM—and the day was golden. Not quite dinnertime. I pulled out my new electric scooter (Costco special), unfolded it from under the bed, and decided to explore.
The paved roads didn’t seem ideal, so I found a dirt path leading to the primitive campsites. It was a mix of sand, rocks, and hard-packed earth, weaving through scrubby bushes and twisted trees that looked like something out of a South African safari. Gnarled, leafless, beautiful in that harsh-desert kind of way. I zipped along the trail for about 10 minutes until it looped back to a different part of Lea Lake.
That’s where I spotted him—a guy in his 50s, drying out a wetsuit on the hood of his car. I stopped and asked, “Did you swim?”
“Scuba dive,” he said.
He told me the lake reaches depths of about 80 feet and that there are sunken cars and other treasures to explore down there. No fish anymore, apparently—used to be carp. The water was slightly salty and deep enough to need a flashlight at depth. We chatted about wetsuits, sinus pressure (a sore spot for both of us), and the general swim-ability of the lake. He assured me the water was clean and safe, even if you accidentally got a gulp. Good to know.
I cruised back toward the campground—officially called Figure 8 Lake Campground—and caught one of the most striking sunsets of the trip. The whole place glowed in reds and golds. If you told me I was in Africa, I might’ve believed you.
I guess my lens was dirty…oh well
Still not hungry, I scooted around a little more on the paved roads, enjoying the breeze and fading light. That’s when I got waved down by a guy in a truck camper setup. Beer in hand, friendly smile. We chatted. He and his wife were from the northeastern part of New Mexico, towing an ATV, just enjoying the trip.
He asked where I was heading. I told him Santa Fe.
He frowned. “Ah, don’t go to Santa Fe.”
That threw me a bit. I told him I was from Hawaiʻi, and that Santa Fe is kind of the one place people back home know about in New Mexico. It’s our Waikīkī, I joked.
He laughed, then veered into politics. Said Santa Fe was too liberal. I let him talk. I try not to get political on the road—better to just listen and learn. We’re all out here trying to connect, in our own way.
I asked where he’d recommend. “Angel Peak,” he said. “And if you’re heading into Utah—check out Valley of the Gods.”
Then he mentioned something called the “Moki Dugway.” I asked how to spell it. He admitted he had no idea—offered something wildly inaccurate—but it was enough for me to find it later. And yep, you’ll hear about that in another leg of the journey. Totally worth it.
The Value of Roadside Advice and a Peaceful Evening
Some of the best travel advice I’ve ever gotten hasn’t come from apps or guidebooks—it’s come from random, real-life conversations with people on the road. Like the guy in the truck camper who told me about Angel Peak and the Moki Dugway. I hadn’t planned on seeing either, but the Moki Dugway ended up being a highlight.
And it’s not just this trip. On an entirely different journey, way before I ever got to Maine, a stranger casually mentioned Acadia National Park in passing. If it weren’t for that offhand recommendation, I might’ve missed one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
That kind of thing happens all the time. I’m not a meticulous planner. I like to leave space for spontaneity, for the route to bend based on who I meet and what I learn along the way. And I’m always impressed—honestly, kind of amazed—by how friendly and generous people are out here. When you listen to the media, you’d think the country’s on the verge of tearing itself apart. But once you get out of the cities and into the rhythm of road life, it’s a different story. People wave. They strike up conversations. They offer tips, warnings, even firewood.
You’ve got to keep your wits about you, of course. But if you can open up just a little—to a chat at a gas station, a wave from a campsite neighbor—it’s incredible how much it can shape your trip. Some of the best detours start that way.
Alien Adventures and Desert Dips: A Roswell Recharge
Back at my campsite as the sun began to set, I threw together a simple dinner—healthy, satisfying, eaten on a proper picnic table beside my very own private bottomless lake. It had been a long, full day: Guadalupe Mountains in the morning, Carlsbad Caverns in the afternoon, and a golden desert evening to wrap it all up. I started thinking ahead—maybe an early swim the next morning, then onward to Santa Fe.
The guy before me left a nice tarp over the bench
But when morning came? Nope. Not happening. I woke up completely wiped out. The idea of getting up early to plunge into cold water suddenly seemed like the worst idea ever. I just lay there for a while, stretched out in the quiet, realizing that I hadn’t had a proper rest day in nearly a week. I’d been bouncing from spot to spot every night, chasing sunlight and scenery. If you find a good campsite, stay. You never know when you’ll find another one like it. This kind of thing is one of the reasons I like to haul ass through areas where the camping isn’t so great. It gives you time to pause when the gettin is good.
So, I stayed.
I took my time with breakfast, enjoyed a gloriously lazy morning, and thanked the van gods once again for my 600 amp hour RoamRig battery upgrade. Having enough juice to run the AC while parked is a game-changer. It turns sticky mornings into something borderline luxurious—cool, comfortable, no frantic sweating while trying to figure out my next moves. I could write a whole separate blog post about that upgrade alone.
I tossed another twenty bucks into the self-pay station, stuck a new ticket on my post, and placed my trusty orange Home Depot bucket—marked “RESERVED” in permanent black Sharpie—on the picnic table, weighed down with a rock. Pro tip: a Home Depot bucket is endlessly useful. I mostly use mine as a trash can, but it’s also a dead-simple way to make your claim on a site clear. Nobody’s ever messed with it.
I’ve paid for campsites, marked the post properly, and still come back to find someone rudely parked in my spot—no note, no trace, just full-on campsite theft. Ever since then, the Home Depot bucket has been my answer. There’s just something unmistakable about a big orange bucket with “RESERVED” scrawled across it in black Sharpie. It sends a message. I’ve yet to have anyone violate the sanctity of the bucket. It’s so clear and deliberate that you’d have to be a special kind of jerk to pretend you didn’t know someone already claimed that site.
Exploring Roswell and a Pleasant Walmart Experience
With the day stretching ahead, I figured I’d check out Roswell. I needed groceries anyway—more avocado and veggies—and wanted to pop into the International UFO Museum. Because when in Roswell…
Walmart in Roswell was a surprisingly pleasant experience. Unlike back home in Honolulu, where the parking lot feels like a demolition derby, this one had wide, empty stalls and stress-free shopping. The produce was surprisingly good and shockingly cheap by Hawaii standards. I even picked up a new comforter and mattress topper—mine had definitely seen better days.
I was pleased wtih my new bedding
The Quirky UFO Museum and Roswell’s Alien Charm
After parking-lot AC and a quick setup session in the van, I headed over to the UFO Museum and Research Center. “Research Center” might be a stretch—I’m not sure anyone’s discovering new alien truths in there—but it was quirky and fun. Definitely had a 1970s roadside attraction vibe. I didn’t read every display (this wasn’t Manzanar), but I wandered through and enjoyed the effort. It’s not really my thing, but I respect the commitment.
The outside of the museum
Roswell leans all the way into the alien theme, and honestly? It works. The streetlights are shaped like alien heads. The McDonald’s is designed like a flying saucer.
Dunkin’ Donuts has a giant alien statue.
The drive-through features alien “workers.” But it’s done tastefully—well, playfully—not in a weird or gross way. Compared to some other kitschy alien spots I’ve passed through, Roswell was downright charming.
Even the street lamps in Roswell are alien
The Cold-Water Wetsuit Debut and the Lakeside Swim
I lingered around town for a bit, killing time while my lunch digested. I don’t like swimming on a full stomach, and the sun was still blazing. Eventually, I drove back to Lea Lake, ready for my big cold-water wetsuit debut.
The water temperature was still brisk—low-50s—but manageable. I’d picked up a sleeveless wetsuit and thermal cap from Xterra and wanted to give it a proper field test. I’ve swum in cold water before, but my head and ears are usually the limiting factor. This was my first attempt at a real workout in chilly conditions.
Getting the wetsuit on was… an adventure. Not impossible, but awkward. Apparently, you’re supposed to put plastic bags on your feet to slide in more easily. I didn’t know that. So there I was, sweating and struggling, possibly cursing my recent french fry habit as I tried to zip up the back. Eventually, I got it on, slathered on some sunscreen, and made my way to the water. It felt weird at first—like wearing a dry suit. The water seeped in slowly, but the suit did its job. I stayed warm, even where it was sleeveless. My head took a bit of time to adjust, and it hurt a little at first when submerged, but after 10 minutes of paddling around in the buoyed swim zone, the ache faded. I was good to go.
What surprised me most was the buoyancy. I’ve surfed in wetsuits before, but this was different. It lifted my legs so high it actually felt like it was tweaking my lower back a little. Like, too much flotation. But I adjusted and decided to go for it—swimming out beyond the buoys, across the lake.
An Unfamiliar Lake Swim and the Wetsuit Removal
Being out in the middle of the lake felt… weird. Not bad, just unfamiliar. I’ve done plenty of ocean and river swimming, but there’s something about the stillness and depth of a lake that feels more exposed. Boaters were cruising nearby, and the black water beneath me gave me just a touch of the heebie-jeebies. No sharks, obviously, but still—your mind wanders.
I looked around for the sunken car the scuba guy told me about, but couldn’t find it. After a few minutes of searching, I gave up and swam back to shore.
Peeling the wetsuit off afterward was harder than getting it on. I didn’t know the tricks yet—things like using your fingers like mini crowbars to widen the ankle openings. I ended up hunched over in the parking lot, wrestling myself out of it like a python shedding its skin, trying not to track dust into the van.
With no outdoor showers like the ones I’d found in Yuma, I rinsed off the salty lake water in the van’s tiny bathroom. Salt’s not great for wetsuits long-term, so I did my best to clean it thoroughly before hanging it up to dry.
A Calm Evening and Reflections on the Day
The rest of the evening was calm and perfect. A little food, a little fresh air, maybe a few videos on the tablet. It was the second day in a row I stayed put—rested, swam, explored —and it felt like a turning point. Less road-worn, more grounded. Like I’d finally caught up with myself.
Swimming at Lea Lake was easily one of the highlights of this leg of the trip. That wetsuit? Total game-changer. I’m already planning to upgrade the cap situation—maybe layer a watertight swim cap under the thermal one. I also picked up some booties and gloves, which might’ve been overkill in this weather, but I stayed toasty. If I end up somewhere colder, I’ll be glad to have them.
Tomorrow, it’s time to pack up and make my way north to Santa Fe. But this little detour—Roswell, bottomless lakes, slow mornings and spontaneous swims—was exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Leave a Reply