The Second Windiest Place in the United States (hint: it's not the Tri-Cities like I thought it would be)

 January 6 – 9, 2026

We started the day sleeping in until 8 a.m., resting our sick, tissue-dependent bodies. Eventually, we rallied and headed to Carlsbad Caverns National Park, which—credit where credit is due—is absolutely mind-blowing. You can get down into the caverns one of two ways:

1. Take an elevator straight down a terrifyingly long shaft equivalent to the height of the Empire State Building, or

2. Hike a steep 1¾ miles down, dropping about 800 feet into the earth like a cave goblin.

Obviously, we chose the hike. Because if you’re already sick, you might as well add leg destruction to the mix.

Once at the bottom, there’s another 1¼-mile scenic loop that’s mostly flat and full of amazing rock formations that look like bacon and organs you don’t want to Google. The history is fascinating, and George announced he will never look at a hill the same way again, now knowing there could be an entire underground world lurking directly beneath his feet. 

By the end of the loop, however, neither of us had the physical or emotional strength to hike 800 feet back up. So I bravely suppressed my fear, got into the elevator, and spent the entire ride up praying it wouldn’t break down or snap its cable. Good news: it did none of those things. 

On the drive back to camp, the road was mostly downhill, which meant George coasted the entire way like a smug child who just learned what momentum is. At one point he was going about 5 mph, and the person behind us was not thrilled. 

Back in the tiny entry town, we stopped at the only store and bought a criminally overpriced box of Kleenex. We were desperate and had already blown through the two boxes we had. Illness respects no budget.

The next morning, we worked for a bit and then—despite still being sick—decided to go for a bike ride. Maybe we could sweat the sickness out of us. We hadn’t ridden since before Christmas, so clearly a casual re-entry was justified. Yet I was determined to make it to the Slaughter Canyon Cave trailhead, a mere 24 mile round trip ride. The national park has 119 caves, but you can only actually go into two—Carlsbad cavern and Slaugher Canyon Cave. 

Slaughter Canyon requires a ranger escort, and technically the cave was closed due to flood damage, but that didn’t matter. I like destinations, even if they’re closed.

I’m confident this was the hardest ride of my life. The entire way out was a slight uphill straight into an unhinged wind and the last mile and a half was off-road on thick gravel, which felt rude. But we made it. The entire time, I prayed the wind wouldn’t die down, because I was counting on it to blow me all the way back to the camper. The wind delivered. I don't think I would have made it otherwise. We got home in half the time it took to get there. 

That night, we made friends with our neighboring campers. The guy looked strikingly like my Uncle Don. Naturally, I pulled a photo from his wife’s Instagram and made a “Find the Imposter” collage for my family. 

That night the wind cranked itself up even more and it poured rain. The camper shook and rattled all night like we were in a disaster movie. Sleep was challenging. On top of that, I lay there wide awake worrying about how we were even going to get out of there, since there were road warnings for high-profile vehicles—which, in case anyone was unclear, is exactly what we are.

The next morning, despite being tired, we drove into Guadalupe Mountains National Park, just a few miles away. It’s one of the least visited national parks, which is a shame because it’s actually very cool. It has the four highest peaks in Texas and the world’s most extensive Permian fossil reef—aka: this place used to be underwater, got buried, then shoved up into mountains and now all the rocks contain fossils. 

There’s no scenic drive here. You have to hike it. Unfortunately, the day we chose had 60 mph winds, a temperature of 40°F, and a killer wind chill. At the visitor center, we learned this is the second windiest place in the United States. And to think I thought that title belonged to the Tri-Cities.

Dark storm clouds wrapped the mountaintops like a threat. The ranger didn’t seem concerned, though, so after some hemming and hawing, we went for it. Four layers, hats, gloves—all the winter apparel.

Our hike was the Devil's Hall, a five-mile adventure. The first mile was easy peasy. After that, we were in a wash full of giant boulders you had to climb over, around, and through. It ended with a very cool staircase into a slot canyon, and honestly, it was incredible. Totally worth freezing our faces off.

At the end, George had the terrible idea to bushwhack up the mountainside to connect to another trail so we could see the park’s famous arch. There was absolutely no universe where that was a good idea. The fact that I talked him out of it so easily told me he knew that too.

Fortunately, on the hike back, I spotted the arch from afar. Then again from another angle. George was thrilled. Crisis averted. Marriage intact.

All in all, another great stop on our travel adventure.