Jaci Dawn

It was overcast and foggy much of the three days, so we did not go to the Garden of the Gods. There were a number of other places to go, but we really didn’t have the time to ride the cog railway or run around checking out every tourist attraction in the area.

But – Terry & I decided to do some touristy things, like visit the Manitou Springs Cliff Dwellings. Sounded good, but one we were out of the car and meandering through, something seemed “off.” Maybe it was the mortar or the excellent state of preservation or maybe it was the fact that you could touch and climb and there were no park rangers breathing down your neck… But it was “off” enough that as soon as we were by a computer again, Terry looked them up.

Not so authentic, but interesting anyway.

Well, that was fascinating, but very disappointing in that we had to find out via the Internet that it wasn’t exactly authentic (there could have been some sort of disclaimer on site).

We decided to go check out historic tourist-trap Manitou Springs

next. Originally known for the mineral water springs, Manitou Springs sported a hospital for terminally ill patients (many tuberculosis cases) and a myriad of different springs that reputedly tasted slightly different from each other. Eventually the springs dried up (some say they were cursed by the local Indians who felt it was wrong to charge for the healing powers) and the hospital closed. Today, several of the springs are capped and walled in in some artsy motif (different for each spring) and the town boasts a number of tourist shops, mountain biking, and a general feeling of having stepped into Middle Earth. I’m certain we saw Gandalf the Grey’s younger cousin walking around town, but I hesitated to ask him if I could snap a photo. I was afraid he’d ask for money.

I only counted four springs, but I think there were more.

There were a lot of lovely old houses with turrets and gables and stairs (the town is built in a narrow canyon). Manitou Springs was a lot more interesting and fun than the cave dwellings, plus it was free to wander around.

I dragged Terry into the dulcimer shop. The guy who owns it repairs old musical instruments and builds new ones, too.  Very cool.

The residents were very friendly, too. Think this guy owns the street?

Terry and I drove around Colorado Springs and looked at historic houses. There’s something about the architecture of the late 1800s that is just inviting. Since I live in a historic little town where many of the homes are on the National Historic Registry, I found it interesting that not so many of Colorado Springs’ homes were so marked. Maybe we just didn’t notice. Or it could be a difference of 50 years: Oregon City was established in 1829 and Colorado Springs was established in 1871.

There are several colleges in Colorado Springs and while it is a larger community than Oregon City by about ten times, it seemed to be a livable area.

I thought Colorado Springs was every bit as friendly and lovely as Portland and about the same size of city. It was easy to navigate (something Portland is not) around and the streets were (get this!!) wide. Now that’s a real switch from driving in Portland where the streets are often narrow and paved with cobblestone.

I like where I live, but I liked Colorado Springs, too.

I have one more photo to share. My favorite “sculpture”:

I finally got to hold my newest grandson! Doesn’t he look impressed?

My son with his son. Look at that wild hair!

My beautiful daughter-in-law trying to ignore the camera.

Kissable cheeks, flyaway hair!

Fat baby and his mom

Levi bought the street sign in South Korea.

Moments with family are precious. I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with my son, his wife, and my grandson. We just had too many miles to drive. But the few moments we had will be treasured in my heart forever.

What a sweet sweet little face!

We meandered along the old highway instead of taking I-70 west. The plan was to go as far as Vail and head south, but we ended up heading south much earlier.

Leaving Grand Junction

This was the first of many such gas stations. I find it wrong on so many levels, but that’s just me.

Puts a new twist to growing up in dirt. Elevation 5432 (feet). No idea what the population is.

The park in New Castle. I’m not sure if dogs are allowed or not, but whatever you do, keep them on a leash and clean up after them. Another Sign Fail. New Castle looked like a nice town, too, and certainly more deserving of exploration than we gave it.

It was in Glenwood Springs that we got sidetracked on State Route 82 and found ourselves headed south toward Aspen instead of east to Vail. That was quite all right: Aspen is nestled in a high scenic valley and State Route 82 turns into A Forest Service road on the eastern edge of town. Narrow, sometimes single-lane, and no guard rails, but certainly not a scary road to be on (unless it were to snow. I don’t think I’d want to be on an unmaintained highway when it snows). Besides, as we traveled through the aspen and pine forest, it slowly dawned on me that maybe i was wrong to have focused so much energy on hunting jackalope. Because we were definitely in Bigfoot country now.

We stopped to look at old mining ruins. The mountains jutted up all around us and the air was thin. Beaver worked the streams. You can see we were just below timberline here (about 11,500 feet).

The last steep push to Independence Pass, looking back west.

12,095 feet (3686 meters). Every direction you turn, you are surrounded by snow-capped mountains jutting into the timberline. I love mountains.

The road off the pass got with the program: down-down-down. It was a pleasant enough drive, not too rugged, and a lot of old mining sites dotting the hillside. I kept my eyes peeled for Bigfoot, but saw no trace of him.

Then we were finally off the mountain in in the long north-south vale below, headed to Buena Vista. A large LED highway sign warned us that we were coming into Important Deer Crossing. And guess what? We saw the Important Deer. Lots of them. All grazing in the alfalfa fields around Buena Vista, contentedly chuckling at all the deer hunters scouring the high country for big bucks.

Darkness descended before we completed the passage across the last plateau between Buena Vista and Colorado Springs. We saw a small wolf lope across the highway and a fat porcupine waddle along a bar pit; several bored-looking antelope resting beside lonely fence posts, and not a few bored bovines.

The fog was coming in thick and the temps were hovering right around freezing, so all we really wanted to do was get into a motel and settle in for the night before the roads got slippery.

But I couldn’t wait and I had to call my son to tell him we’d arrived. I just had to get my hands on this little guy.

Hi Justin! Grandma’s here! (Doesn’t he look impressed?)

Cutting across the sagebrush flatlands out of Delta, Utah, we saw a couple strange contraptions. There was a solar panel and a long flat bed of what appeared to be rusty metal out in front of the solar panels. While we pondered what they might be, we began to realize there was a pattern to them. Not only a pattern, but a whole lot of solar panels and beds, neatly arranged in a grid across the desert and all aimed the same direction.

Terry suggested they might be searching for aliens.We had no idea how close to the truth he was: they are “Cosmic Ray Collectors” and they cost the taxpayer (that’s you and me) $17,000,000.00. Roughly speaking.

We should have stopped and taken pictures, but since we didn’t, you’ll have to follow a couple links Terry found when he tried to look the contraptions up. I especially encourage you to read The Desert Survivor’s blog on the Cosmic Ray Collectors. I think she’s a lot more lucid than the other link – and a whole lot funnier.

I wish we’d have taken photos.

We should have taken photos of Scipio. There are some pretty cool old buildings in Scipio.  To be fair, Terry offered to stop in Scipio, but I didn’t realize then how much I would regret not getting photos. And we had a long day’s drive ahead of us.

We didn’t stop to take photos until somewhere out beyond Green River, where the country changes abruptly to sandstone, sedimentary and metamorphic rock formations. Breath taking.

There are several scenic pull-outs along I-70 (still Route 50).

Photos can’t do the country justice. The grades were steep, the hill country layered in green-gray-white-pink with occasional strips of coal embedded in the rock. There were “Frequent Deer and Elk” crossings (no Major Deer, only Frequent ones) (we saw no Frequent deer and only one Frequent elk – and it was quite dead).

“HALP!”

Seriously, I can’t take him anywhere.

It was a long day of driving up-up-up and over mountain passes. We made Grand Junction, Colorado after dark. The weather was still holding for us despite some threatening clouds earlier in the day. My son wasn’t so fortunate in Colorado Springs: they had freezing rain and icy roads.  Which is why Terry and I decided to back-track a little on Monday morning, to allow Colorado Springs to thaw out.

Tomorrow: strange chicken tales.

Don’t worry, I’ll get to Bigfoot.

And dinosaurs.

And grandbabies.

The adventure is over now and I am at home recuperating. My ears are not quite unstuffed, but I don’t know if that is the fault of the change in altitude flying out of Reno to San Francisco or the slight cold I caught at 12,095 feet in Colorado, wearing only a windbreaker in the snow.

I made a lot of notes, not the least of which was “why I love Nevada” and “why flying is no longer any fun.” The answer to the latter is TSA and the endless security measures we now subject ourselves to. And the stupid Air Bus that United Airtlines put me on between Portland and San Francisco (and the return leg as well): the seats are made for tall people and the “pillow” gave me a kink in the neck because I am too short for the seats. However, the little planes I rode in between San Francisco and Reno had comfy seats.

From Reno to Colorado Springs and back was all by pick-up truck: thank you to my big brother who drove all the way. More on him, later.

Why I love Nevada.

Sure, nearly every state in the union now has legalized gambling on Indian reservations, but in Nevada, it is everywhere. This was the sign over the door to the restrooms at a gas station in Fernley. You can’t go anywhere in NV without a one-armed bandit waiting to shake your hand. If they could put cameras on them, they’d be inside the bathrooms, too.

At least most places have gotten rid of the gaudy red velvet wall paper.

Terry & I cruised across US Route 50 (The Loneliest Road in America) from Reno to Ely on Saturday the 11th. We took the old highway which is slightly more scenic than the new (and considerably more winding).

We stopped in Austin to buy ice cream from a local business and found this sign. Dang! Not only is it slippery when wet or icy, but now it is slipery, too!And that just sounds slimy!

There were signs I did not get photos of. For instance, I did not get a photo of the sign warning “Major Deer Crossing”. No idea where Private Deer cross.

The first time I saw this particular placard hanging on a fence, I assumed it was a spelling error. But after awhile, I got the distinct impression that the extra “t” in there was on purpose. Without knowing the particulars of the issues, I still have to say that it’s quite the campaign. Got my attention.

We spent the night in Ely, visiting with my dad who is now 81 and my nephew, John. My dad is on oxygen these days and the elevation doesn’t help him breathe. Ely sits just under 6500′ (1962 meters) and funnels the north wind through all winter. Ely is a dusty little town, that vacillates between boom and bust. Usually it is more bust than boom, but the town seems to hang on anyway. There’s a little tourism to keep people coming through and the intersection of highways between Reno, Las Vegas and Salt Lake City. (US Routes 6, 50 and 93 converge in Ely.)

A series of storms were purported to be moving in from the coast, so we wanted to get on down the road before they hit (the possibility of a good snow is a good motivator). One night in Ely and breakfast with my dad at the Jailhouse, and we were back on the road Sunday morning.

Good-bye to Ely and Hello to the next leg of our adventure. (Maybe we’ll find a jackalope!)