4k Miles. 6 States. 7 National Parks. 16 Days in a Van – Leg 2
Check out the previous leg of this journey:
Leg 2 Travel Map – 454 miles
Lordsburg KOA – A Flat-Out Dash Through the Desert
It was supposed to be a short, uneventful two-hour cruise down Interstate 10 from Saguaro National Park to Lordsburg, New Mexico—home to yet another KOA (A KOA campground is part of Kampgrounds of America, the world’s largest system of privately owned campgrounds). I’d booked for the night. I’ll hit a few KOAs on this trip. Not because I love them (spoiler: I don’t), but because they’re ridiculously convenient when you’re trying to crush miles. They’re practically glued to the highway—definitely not a dream camping spot, but when you’re running on fumes and just need a plug-in and a patch of gravel to park, they deliver.
Say what you want about KOAs, but they’ve got a certain standard. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s consistent. You pretty much know what you’re getting—decent bathrooms, clean-ish sites, and they’re rarely total dumps. That kind of predictability is actually kind of nice on a long trip like this. Also, unlike some BLM sites (A BLM campground is a designated area on Bureau of Land Management land managed by the U.S. government for outdoor recreation, including camping.) sites that have you navigating a labyrinth of dirt roads 40 minutes off the freeway, KOAs are more like: exit, turn, park, breathe.
I left Saguaro feeling totally wiped but also determined not to roll in late again. I’d made that mistake too many times already on this trip. I was trying to break the cycle—get up earlier, hit the road sooner, avoid driving at night (which, in an RV, is just asking for trouble).
As for the drive itself? Honestly… I couldn’t remember a single thing about it. Three weeks later, it was just a blur. So I checked the route on Google Maps and—yep—turns out it’s exactly what I don’t remember: flat, scrubby desert, dotted with the occasional mountain way off in the distance. A whole lot of beige. But the good news? I flew through it. Easy miles.
The Thing? My friends from Placerville said it was not worth the stop. They have sooo many large bill boards it’s hard not to get trapped though. Beware. Usually when ads are vague, you know it’s not someTHING you want to see.
I rolled into Lordsburg KOA just in time to be greeted by a cheerful camp host who, for some reason, got a kick out of translating my name into Spanish and calling me that for the rest of the evening. I kind of loved it. It added a little levity to what was otherwise a forgettable stop.
And yeah… the KOA wasn’t anything special. Sparse crowd, dusty spots, not a lot to say about the place. But I did manage to take a solid shower—and more importantly, I finally set up my Ring cam and security system.
I know, I know. It sounds paranoid. But when you’re soaking wet in a towel in the middle of nowhere, your home-on-wheels feels a little too vulnerable. The Ring cam paired with Starlink means I can actually watch the inside of my van while I’m showering, which brings a weird amount of peace. At home I wouldn’t think twice—but out here? I’ve got gear, food, my whole setup in there. I just don’t want this trip to end because some random dude decided my van was a treasure hunt.
So, no sweeping views or magical sunsets this leg—but I got clean, kept everything secure, and got some sleep. On a high-mileage travel day, that’s a win.
Time to Slow Down – Chasing Hot Springs in Southern New Mexico
I woke up that morning feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. After days of long drives and rough sleep—barely scraping together 5 or 6 hours a night—it finally caught up with me. I was running on fumes. It was clear: I needed a break.
Smoked salmon breakfast 🤌
Looking ahead on the map, I remembered a friend raving about some amazing hot springs down in southern New Mexico. The name was fuzzy, but I had a feeling I’d recognize it when I saw it. A quick Google search later, and—boom—Riverbend Hot Springs popped up. That was the one.
The online info was a little vague, so I gave them a call. The guy who answered wasn’t exactly brimming with hospitality, but after a bit of back-and-forth, I managed to lock in a sunset soak in their tubs. Unfortunately, their RV parking was full, so I couldn’t stay the night there.
Still, credit where it’s due: he tossed out a couple of nearby options—Elephant Butte Lake State Park and Elephant Butte Lake RV Resort. I was beyond exhausted and didn’t want to risk rolling into a full campground, so I played it safe and booked a spot at the resort. It was pricier than most places I’d stayed—around $75—but sometimes the price of peace of mind is worth it.
I hit the road knowing I had a solid plan, a hot soak waiting, and (finally) a chance to catch my breath
Chasing Stillness at Elephant Butte Lake
When I pulled into Elephant Butte Lake RV Resort, I was pleasantly surprised. The folks at the front desk were welcoming, the park was well-maintained, and the bathrooms looked like they’d deliver a solid shower—clean, spacious, not sketchy (a small miracle in RV park life).
Curious about the lake, I wandered back to the counter and asked the woman working if it was close, and if people actually swam in it. She smiled and told me it was nearby but warned the water would be pretty cold this time of year. Fair enough.
Back at the campsite, I tried to settle in, but restlessness got the better of me—again. Despite being bone-tired, I couldn’t sit still. So I headed out to check out the lake for myself.
And wow.
Elephant Butte Lake State Park is a true desert oasis. Surrounded by a vast, dry landscape, the lake opens up like a secret—deep blue that turns to turquoise, and sprawling, with an almost-island connected to shore by a narrow spit of land. At the entrance gate, I learned that out-of-staters like me had to pay $10 just to access the area. I paid it, drove in, and watched as RVs and trucks dotted the shoreline, off-road camping freely right by the water.
Instantly, I turned around, went back to the gate, and asked how much more it would cost to stay the night down there.
“Another five bucks,” the ranger said.
Done.
Sure, I had already paid for the RV resort. But I mean—when else was I going to get to camp between two bodies of water like this? I headed back down and found the perfect spot, parked just steps from the lake’s edge. The wind was picking up, and the water was cold—probably around 50°F even in the shallows. I was dying to test out my new wetsuit but didn’t quite have the energy. I figured I’d save the plunge for another day. Also, the water looked slightly murky, and I didn’t want to get hurt swimming at a place I’d never been.
Instead, I made dinner right there on the sandy causeway—a chicken and avocado sandwich (with a side of fries that actually turned out great). I tried to stage a good photo for you all—yes, the French fry game is slowly improving.
Eventually, the wind calmed. The lake turned to glass. I snapped a picture without the reflection being shattered by ripples. It was a quiet, rare moment of stillness on a trip that had been full throttle since day one.
I bought a cheap ass toaster at Walmart for $10. It wasn’t large enough for Dave’s killer bread so I have to rip off the ends. Still, one of the better tasting meals on the trip. I enjoyed that Costco chicken for a week.
After hanging out lakeside for a while, just breathing it all in, and feeling quite a bit more rested and relaxed, I packed up and headed toward my soak at Riverbend Hot Springs, in a town with arguably the most unforgettable name I’ve ever seen:
Trippy Waters and Solo Soaks in Truth or Consequences
A name like that sounds like something between a spiritual awakening and a horror movie. Either way—I was ready.
When I rolled into Riverbend Hot Springs, the vibe was exactly what I expected: full-on hippie oasis. Which made total sense—my buddy who recommended it is a tie-dye soul wrapped in patchouli dreams. But here’s the thing: it was clean. And not like “hippie clean,” but actually clean. That’s not always the case with places that lean hard into the incense-and-introspection aesthetic, so I was pleasantly surprised.
There were clear instructions for checking in and waiting, which I appreciated. I found a little corner and sat quietly until my soak time rolled around.
Right on cue, a staff member came over and walked me back to my private tub—and yeah, it was incredible. Seriously, $45 for a private soak like that? Total steal. Even better, that $45 covers two people.
Now, being alone on this trip has been kind of a theme, and I think the staff thought it was a bit odd—a solo dude just drifting into Truth or Consequences without a partner. But honestly, the quiet, the stillness, the lack of conversation—that was the whole point. It was everything I needed.
The setting was unreal. From the tub, I could see the Rio Grande lazily flowing just beyond the property. In the background, a mountain that looked strikingly like Diamond Head back in Oahu loomed peacefully. The water temperature was dialed in perfectly for long soaks. And they had this quirky but brilliant feature: a pull-cord cold-water bucket overhead that you could dump on yourself. Every ten minutes, I’d pull it, reset my body temp, and settle back in—totally recharged.
If there’s one thing they need to fix, though—it’s their time management system. About 40 minutes into what was supposed to be a 60-minute soak, I started getting knocks on the door. Not subtle ones either. That part was kind of a buzzkill. Like, either give people clocks in the rooms or let us know when time’s up without interrupting the whole vibe. Don’t short me on time and throw off my Zen. Maybe a meditation bell would be cool.
Toward the end of the soak, something strange started happening. Across the river, in the dark, I noticed green glowing eyes—first just a couple, then dozens. For a second, I questioned whether I was hallucinating. I’m sober, but it had me wondering.
When I checked out, I asked about it. Turns out, they have over 500 laser lights hidden in the foliage beaming across the Rio Grande. At nightfall, they switch them on to create this trippy, otherworldly glow across the water. Apparently, it’s a whole thing—a visual playground for the psychonaut crowd. My buddy later told me he dropped a solid dose of mushrooms before his soak and said it was like bathing in a lava lamp. Yep. Definitely a vibe.
Would I go back? 100%. It’s weird in the best way.
After the soak, I hit the showers at Riverbend—nice enough that I didn’t even need to bother with the one back at the RV park.
Snowy Sands and Desert Wandering
The next morning? Absolutely beautiful. The water was glassy still, reflecting the early light, and I woke up to the sound of birds—seagulls maybe?—singing their morning songs. It was one of those calm, perfect wake-ups that make you pause before reaching for your phone. Here’s what it looked like from my “bedroom” window that morning:
I felt… not totally rested, but recharged enough. My plan was simple: head to White Sands National Park, and see how I felt afterward to determine the rest of the day. I’d done a little research the night before and noted that Guadalupe Mountains National Park was more or less en route if I wanted to tack that on before heading to Carlsbad Caverns. But nothing was locked in. All I knew was: White Sands was happening.
The drive was full of classic desert terrain—ridgelines, wide open scrubland, a few mountain passes. As I got closer, the heat cranked up. The desert sun was already doing its thing by the time I pulled into the visitor center. I popped in, as usual, checked out the gift shop—nothing I needed—then headed straight for the dunes.
Now, I’ve seen my fair share of sand dunes: Great Sand Dunes National Park, plus a handful along the Oregon coast and more recently Imperial Sand Dunes in CA. But White Sands is on another level. It doesn’t just feel different—it looks different. The sand is this blazing, dazzling white, so bright it could pass for snow in the right light. The brightness is unreal.
One thing I loved about it? You get to drive right through the dunes. Not beside them—through them. It never felt sketchy or like I might get stuck. I’m guessing there’s a hard base below the surface, maybe even asphalt, and it looked like they groom the sand to keep it smooth and passable. Either way, it was stunning.
I drove all the way to the back of the park and did a short hike. But like Saguaro, the heat out there was no joke. The sun reflecting off the white sand added a whole extra layer of intensity. I didn’t last long. I found myself hustling back to the van, craving the comfort of AC.
I’ve realized something on this trip: I’m just not built for the heat. Even having grown up in Hawaii, I way prefer 40° to 60° weather over anything in the 70s or 90s. Hot weather just saps me.
Back at the van, I cranked up the AC—thank you, battery bank—and started thinking through my next move. I had enough time to make it out toward Guadalupe Mountains National Park, but I’d done zero research. I figured I’d just wing it and see what I could find
I need to slow down on videos
To give myself some wiggle room, I’d pre-booked two reservation days at Carlsbad Caverns. One was for the day after Guadalupe, assuming I’d explore that first. The other was a backup in case I felt ambitious enough to do both in the same day. Honestly, I recommend doing that if you’re on a loose schedule like I was. The extra day cost maybe four bucks, and while it wasn’t refundable, it gave me some peace of mind.
So with White Sands now in the rearview mirror and the sun still blazing overhead, I hit the road—excited, a little apprehensive, and totally unprepared for what came next.
Check out Leg 3 of this Epic Journey:
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