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Excerpts from Abe Peña's  popular publications

All material used with the kind permission of the author, given to me personally.

from VILLAGES

"The Road to San Mateo

In the 1800s, the road to San Mateo was simply a trail. Occasional riders came across the mountain from Seboyeta, or from the Cabezon country, and followed the watershed from el canyon de San Mateo southwest towards Los Alamitos, now Grants, and a trail was born.

When San Mateo was founded in 1862, wagons begin to use the trail on their way to Fort Wingate, also started the same year. Shortly thereafter, stage coaches made their way from Santa Fe via Peña Blanca, and Cabezon, to San Mateo, where they connected with the San Mateo road on their way to Fort Wingate, now San Rafael. The stage coach carried mostly military personnel, military payrolls, some passengers, and mail to the soldiers at the Fort under construction.

There was a stage stop at El Dado on the Bartolomé Fernández grant owned by Col. Manuel Chaves, now a part of the Floyd W. Lee Ranch. The stage coaches used the route until 1882, when the railroad came through Grants, which marked the final days of the stage line.

The San Mateo road kept changing its route as arroyos changed course. In the 1930s, when I first remember the road, it used to follow pretty well the route it follows now. Old timers tell us the road originally veered south past the rancho de don Procopio Sandoval, then east of el rancho de don Rudolfo Otero, and cut across the plain past el rancho de los Bibos on its way to Grants.

Around the turn of the century, some homesteads were claimed in the Lobo Canyon country and the San Mateo road forked towards Lobo Canyon. The main road continued and approached Grants on the north side of the railroad tracks through what we now know as Elkins street in north Milan.

The people of San Mateo have many stories to tell about the San Mateo road. There's the story of Don Rudolfo Otero, who they say had a great sense of humor and like to tell stories. He befriended travelers who stopped at his homestead to drink water from the only windmill on the road and rest their horses. In those days, there were no fences and his cattle roamed beyond the homestead.

It is said that, when he was asked about the people from San Mateo, he responded, “San Mateo gente, buena gente. Sonabaganes me robaron todas las vacas!” (San Mateo people, good people, sons-of-guns they stole all my cattle!) Don Rudolfo was from San Rafael, and no doubt pride kept him from including his fellow San Rafaeleños.

Then there's the story of mi primo Roman Sandoval and his friend and employee, José María García. They had a few “cups” in Grants and started back to San Mateo at dusk. At El Puertecito, they missed the bridge and fell in the arroyo. The next morning, my father and my brother Eddie were the first ones there. Roman was a little bloody and Dad asked what happened. José María said, “That darned truck has a loose steering wheel and we missed the bridge.” Roman quietly added, “Yes the truck has a loose steering wheel, and so did we!”

Alfredo Barela was the flagman for the highway crew assigned to the San Mateo road long before it was paved. Most of the people from the village called him “El Shoré.” (Shorty). During the rainy season, the flood waters crossed the highway in several places. Especially at “rata pass” where the waters from Ambrosio Lake met the waters from San Mateo and crossed the road downstream.

One day, my father and I were flagged to a stop by Alfredo while the crew was mending the road. He came to the pickup to visit and told us, “They ought to put a large culvert or a bridge here. We spend half our time fixing this place every time it rains.” “Alfredo,” Dad said, with a straight face, “that's a fine idea, but what's going to happen to your job when they put a culvert or build a bridge?” Alfredo laughed and played along, “I hadn't thought about that!”

Doc Fjord, accompanied by Mary Fidel, his assistant, were on their way to San Mateo to deliver a baby and bogged down about three miles from the village. They walked and delivered the baby, then returned to the car. A few of us had pulled the car out of the mud by the time they returned. In a television interview shortly before he died, Doc Fjord told me, “We did what we had to do... and sometimes for little or no pay. Dollars were not our goal. To do the best job we could, was our goal.”

The San Mateo road was known as Highway 53 north when it was paved in the 1960s, and later changed to #605. None of us have gotten used to calling it by its new numbering.

It used to take a day by horse or wagon to get to Grants. When cars came into the picture, it took anywhere from an hour to several hours, depending on the season. Now it takes 30 minutes on a paved road to cover the 25 miles from Grants & Milan in practically all kinds of weather.

There are no stores left in the village; the short distance on a paved highway put them out of business. The beautiful village of San Mateo is now a bedroom community where people sleep and go to work elsewhere, but still maintaining a rural and wholesome quality of life for them and their children."