The Road Trip, part 18a -- At Last, A Ballgame

Night 17 bonus -- I go to a ballgame!

Throughout our travels, baseball has been in short supply, though the XM while driving or the MacBook whenever I can get on the Web have kept me updated with most of the news. But, neither the Rockies in Denver nor the Diamondbacks in Phoenix (where we never really approached) had favorable schedules. Oh, I could have made an effort, but I've been to Coors Field before, and I'm at the point where I either want massive convenience or a never-before-visited ballpark if I'm not going to see the Red Sox live.

Tucson, however, does have a minor league team, the Sidewinders, the AAA-level affiliate of the Diamondbacks. The park is about six miles from the house, a quick and simple drive, the team was in town, and I was cleared to go forth and enjoy myself -- so I did.

Tucson Electric Park, opened in 1998 and the spring training home of the Diamondbacks and the White Sox, is a nice little park, I think. Roomy seating, wide walkways, excellent sightlines. The outfield grass was rather scruffy, but it is near the end of a long season. Everything else was very nice for a ballpark, and I was glad to be there.

I shelled out $9 for a reserved seat behind the home dugout, but would have been fine had I bought a $6 general admission ticket, as the park was nowhere near full. Announced attendance was 1600 or so, but it looked like maybe half that many people were actually there. I moved about freely, and walked a full circuit of the park in the middle innings. Taking up an outfield position near one of the bullpens for a few batters, I could hear the relief pitchers talking about the sorts of things young men discuss in groups. The concessions were ballpark standards, nothing fancy or unusual but served quickly and hot (a benefit of the small crowd -- no lines). I partook of a few hot dogs and some soft drinks, which isn't a very good dinner, but an appropriate one for the setting.

Tucson Electric Park, a perfect evening's distraction. That cloudbank in the distance? Thunderstorm. (Full-sized.)

Ballgame! The Sidewinders took on the Portland Beavers and won, 4-0, but the game wasn't really close -- the Beavers never made any serious threats, and after the home team got two runs in the first on a homer, it was just a matter of playing nine innings. I was pleased to see several attempts at stealing bases, some successful, some thrown out with deadly accuracy.

The park lived up to the "Electric" part of its name thanks to a distant thunderstorm past left field, wherein lightning frequently lit up the storm clouds for the first half of the game. Later, the moon, just past full, rose over right field. The weather was perfect -- mid 80s once the sun set, light breezes, dry (the storm never approached the ballpark).

The game ended routinely, no surprises, no rallies. It was over in under 2 1/2 hours, and that was that. I collected my program, tossed my trash, had another look around the field and park, and took my leave. Some 15 minutes later, I was back at the house, and it wasn't even 10:00 pm.

I love baseball, and in some ways, the minors are even more fun than the big leagues.

Box score: Tucson 4 - Portland 0.

The Road Trip, part 18

Day 17 -- Tucson

Ah, a down day, no long travels -- Tucson is out last major stop, and we've set up camp, as it were. The dogs (four of them) have accepted us as house guests -- Amalie feeding them dog biscuits generously has no doubt sped up the process -- and our schedule is all our own.

But there are things we want to do in Tucson, so we cannot kick back for too long. Eventually fed and showered, we set out to visit Old Tucson Studios, east of the city (past the Tucson Mountains, which aren't a patch on the Coloradan Rockies). Built decades ago for movie making, the place took root as an attraction in its own right, and even though it burned down a few years ago, it has been rebuilt, a testament to its success.

A few miles west of Tucson, the road climbs up Gates Pass, a tiny and very twisty climb but nowhere near the steep, towering challenges we met in Colorado. Plus, the mountainsides are peppered with saguaros, so the view is quite scenic. Once over the crest, the Sonoran Desert spreads out broadly before the viewer, which is just lovely. This is no land of barren dunes -- the desert is quite alive, green from the bounty of rain this year, the plant life fulsome and tenacious. And, as noted, the prickly pear cacti alone are laden, almost overburdened, with dark, red fruits. The desert has had a very good year.

Old Tucson Studios is easy to find -- it's one of only two points of interest in the desert valley -- and we arrived about 11:00 in the morning, the heat mounting but not yet withering. The flies were the toughest challenge, just everywhere, almost constantly. Val and Amie took a horse ride (additional fee) first thing, and enjoyed it -- but mercy, the flies near the corral were the worst! I couldn't get away fast enough. The studio buildings are a bit shabby, though it seems suiting to an old west simulacrum, and overall the place is agreeable fun. There's a few live performances -- Carson and I saw a "magic elixir" (snake oil) show, which was mostly predictable but delivered with enthusiasm by the players, and later we all caught a stunt show with shotgun blanks and an explosion (I had to explain to the kids that, while the bangs were real, there were no bullets -- the actors pretended to dodge the ricochets, it's all part of the fun). Later we panned for gold (didn't find any, but the sluice was plenty full with iron pyrite, fool's gold, and the kids brought home many pieces), and finally had to leave as we had committed to picking up Mary's younger girl, Kylene, after school.

The drive back over the pass was quick, Carson fell asleep, and I stayed at the house with him as Val and Amie went to pick up Kylene. Carson ended up napping for almost five hours -- desert air and heat can really drain a little guy.

The Road Trip, part 17

Day 16 -- Holbrook to Tucson

Best Westerns are pretty good as quick in-and-out, one-night hotels right off the highway go. The one in Holbrook had a breakfast bar, nothing fancy but definitely served the need. Walking back to our room, I showed Carson how to check under vending machines for coins, and happened to spy two pennies in the filth under a Coke machine. We couldn't reach them, but a plastic knife came to the rescue, and soon two very dirty coins were ours. I made sure Carson washed them, and his hands.

Packed up and ready to move on, we first stopped at the Wigwam Hotel. A bit of old Rte. 66 runs through Holbrook, adorned with all sorts of old, schlocky signs and facades along the way. The Wigwam was the inspiration for the Cozy Cone hotel in Cars, and the parking lot has over a dozen vintage models (in various states of disrepair), so for Carson it was a treat and a half. (This road trip really was not meant to be an homage to Cars, but it rather turned out that way. The bluffs and cliffs in Utah are, with just a whiff of imagination, dead ringers for some of the car-shaped bluffs in the movie.) The lobby building wasn't scheduled to open until 3:00 pm, much too late to stay in hopes of buying a souvenir shirt, so we hopped back in the car and drove off.

But not far. Just outside of Holbrook is a huge store of souvenirs and petrified wood. We had picked up a coupon at the hotel for a free half-pound of petrified wood, and how could we resist? There were all sorts of raw and polished rocks -- semiprecious stones, petrified wood, fossils, meteorites. Unfortunately, there was a display of toys (not for sale) mounted high on one wall, which included two in-package Hot Wheels cars. Once Carson spotted those, he forgot about everything else. I told him they were not for sale, Val told him they were not for sale, the store clerk told him they were not for sale -- yet he had a very, very hard time letting go of hopes of buying the two cars. Val finally distracted him enough to select a few pretty stones, and we were off again, but dang, his near-addiction to toy cars really gets in the way sometimes.

The next town was Snowflake, where Jenny used to live (she was a teacher then); I hadn't been there since 2000, Val since 2003, and now it is showing many signs of growth. Immediately south is Taylor, and then there's a bit of a drive to Show Low -- very pretty, tall pine country. A few years ago, in 2002, there was a huge fire (the Rodeo-Chideski Fire) in the area. Dickie Joe ran a salvage company at the time, and when the fire was out he arrived to get to work. Dickie Joe prefers renting a room to taking a hotel, and Jenny (up in Snowflake) had one available. They hit it off, were married in late 2003, and now spend half their time in western Colorado. Life can take interesting turns.

It was 76 degrees in Show Low, Val noted from a bank signboard.

Out of Show Low is a long stretch on ridge tops and along canyons, until finally the road, Rte. 60, twistily climbs down the canyon walls above the Salt River. Near-hairpin turns finally reach a bridge, still high above the river; it looks fairly new, and the old span, now closed to traffic, runs alongside. The trek back up out of the canyon is equally or more challenging -- yes, paved roads, but tighter hairpins, steeper grades, and windy. Eventually we crested the canyon entirely, and were on our way into desert lands. It was obvious that this part of Arizona had had excellent rains this year -- it was very green, and Val (who lived in Tucson for several years) could not remember seeing the region so verdant. And, at last, we sighted the iconic Arizona flora -- the saguaro cactus.

These massive desert plants grow only in Arizona, a very small bit of eastern California, and Mexico, a region known as the Sonoran Desert; nowhere else. Despite its longtime use as the graphic shorthand for "American desert", they do not grow in Texas, or New Mexico, or Nevada, or Utah. They are magnificent, some truly towering, others with enough limbs and offshoots to look almost tree-like. They can live for many decades, perhaps centuries when conditions are right, and in some places are quite plentiful, dotting the hillsides and arroyos. The kids were delighted to see them, and they brought a smile to my face too. Val, an Arizonan from way back, is a bit more jaded to their appearance, but they are unmistakably Arizona's own.

We pulled over in Globe to take a break from the road, and to beat the heat, Val requested a stop at the local Dairy Queen. Again we scored -- the good DQ variety, vanilla and chocolate, with chocolate, cherry, or butterscotch dips (why the Austin franchises settle for only vanilla with chocolate dip is a mystery to me; popular, sure, but the different flavors are so worth having available). Refreshed, we saddled up, tanked up, and headed on down the road.

I was leading a small platoon of four or five vehicles as we entered the town of Mammoth, closing on Tucson, when suddenly I spotted an object in the road. I swerved a bit to avoid it, braked, and pulled into the first driveway, about 100 feet along. I hopped out and trotted back, hoping that the other cars had missed it as well. They had! With no other traffic in sight, I stepped out into the lane and picked up a rather frightened box tortoise, completely pulled into its shell. By this time the kids were closing on me, coming down the sidewalk -- I showed them the tortoise, which was just starting to think about poking out its head. Amalie and Carson were both pleased that Daddy had saved a "turtle". I walked it back into the roadside scrub and set it down, telling the kids to stand back and just watch. Soon it poked out head and limbs and began crawling away, but the kids kept a watchful eye on it until Val could ready the videocam. Silly tortoise got itself stuck under a scraggly bush, and though I'm sure it would have gotten out easily, I extracted it for better viewing. Then I stepped over to a prickly pear cactus, bedecked with fruits (a clear sign of the generous seasonal rains), plucked one (and they are prickly), squished it, and put it right before the tortoise. After a few moments analyzing the situation, the tortoise began munching the pear with obvious enthusiasm. We watched it for another few minutes, hoping it wouldn't go back toward the road, wished friend tortoise the best, and were back on the road to Tucson.

A rare event for us, reaching our destination before sundown -- we tossed aside the Google map and let Val's memory be our guide. She was visibly excited to be back in Tucson. Though Val hasn't lived in Tucson in over 16 years, the parts she remembers haven't much changed, and we soon found our next rest, the home where she and her family used to live, now inhabited primarily by sister Mary and her two daughters.

Joyous greetings given, we dragged in our bags and, finding my quarters for the stay, I dropped on the bed and took a late but much-needed nap. I almost never feel tired while driving, but it does wear me out when I'm done for the day.

From 76 degrees in Show Low, it had hit 100 in Tucson earlier in the day, though was down into the 90s when we arrived. That's one thing about dry heat country that doesn't get enough mention -- when the sun goes down, the temperature drops appreciably, as there's little humidity to hold it back. So the evenings are pleasant and cooler.

The Road Trip, part 16

Day 15 -- Bedrock behind us, on to, um, Holbrook, Arizona, as it turned out

Time to leave Bedrock at last, and head toward Tucson, we took to the road at 1:30 in the afternoon, having spent the morning doing laundry and packing and saying good-bye. By now we had dumped the Grand Canyon from our plans, for several reasons. One, Val and I have seen it and the kids are still a bit young to appreciate it in depth. Two, the Durango-Silverton train was plenty of train fun, and demonstrated that the kids don't have the attention span for a long train ride. Third, it wouldn't be a cheap stop, what with driving to Williams, taking a hotel for two nights, and the train tickets. Plus we stayed longer in Bedrock than we'd planned, so maybe in a few years, but not now. We adjusted our driving route to take us more directly toward Tucson.

Getting out of Colorado was, of course, twisty and uphill. We did spot one deer ahead on the road, but he scampered off into the trees.

Crossing into Utah, the roads were not appreciably straighter until we reached high desert territory. We saw many wind-sculped rocks and mesas and buttes, and even one arch right by the road (Wilson Arch, I've since learned). But the boy was dozing and there were miles to go, so we didn't stop. To our surprise, though we expected a long, hot drive, we actually got a good bit of rain along this stretch and again in Arizona -- monsoon season, Val calls it. It certainly broke the heat nicely.

We did stop once in Utah, to top off the gas tank. This was, easily, the highest price we paid for fuel the entire trip, over $4.50/gallon.

Motoring on into Arizona, the land changed little -- high desert and barren bluffs. It would have been very dry but for the storm system overhead, which occasionally slashed us with rain or provided entertaining, distant thunderbolts. Small towns clearly embraced the fundamental geologic theme of the region -- Rock Point, Rough Rock, Round Rock, Window Rock, Flat Rock. Val (naturally) spotted one coyote scurrying through the roadside scrub (I did catch a glimpse).

We finally reached I-40, our last major road for the day, and turned west for about 30 miles to Holbrook. Jenny had suggested we stay at the Wigwam Hotel, another Route 66 era relic, which places its guests in stereotyped teepees. A nice thought, but it was getting on toward 9:00 pm and, rather than search for the Wigwam, we simply pulled into a Best Western. As on other nights afield, I set out to forage the local restaurants for dinner; an Italian place provided spaghetti, meatballs, salads, and a pizza. Thus sated, and the kids having burned off energy by jumping on the beds, we dropped off, one by one.

Brief Interrupt

We are home -- arrived yesterday, Friday 22-August, Day 21 of the road trip. I will be finishing the series, plenty of notes, but just getting settled back in at the ol' homestead (walking in, I briefly wondered if I'd ever been here before...) has been commanding our time. Plus Amalie begins first grade on Monday, so there was some supplies shopping that needed doing.

The Road Trip, part 15

Day 14 -- Bedrock

Carson and Amalie both piled into the tractor cab with Jenny to help her till a field. Carson fell asleep, and stayed down the rest of the field and on the entire ride back up to the house.

Six horses got out from a neighboring ranch and ranch manager James caught two of them early in the morning, so Amalie had two extra customers at feeding time.

Other than that, we didn't go anywhere or do much of anything noteworthy today, so let's run down some trivia and general observations.

There are no families named Flintstone, Rubble, or Slate living in Bedrock.

Every road in western Colorado goes uphill. Even the roads that, geographically, topologically, and physically go downhill still go uphill in spiritual and metaphorical senses. Gravity never, ever gives a break.

This is known as Paradox Valley because the river (the Dolores) runs perpendicular to the long axis of the valley, which apparently is unique or at least pretty rare. That's the story, anyway.

We have decided to skip the Grand Canyon, mainly because we have spent longer here than we expected, but also because Val and I have seen it, and the kids are a bit too young to appreciate it yet. (Amalie has seen it, actually, but was little older than a baby.) So it'll be straight on to Tucson.

Sweat evaporates quickly here. Dry country.

General observation upon the state of the land: wherever man (or woman) travels, for some reason, he feels compelled to drop an empty beer can, or similarly durable piece of trash. I honestly do not understand this. It was heavier carrying it in, why not carry out the remains? Seriously, there is a substantive difference between making an abstract declaration of "I was here" or demonstrating "I was a jerk here". People should do better, it certainly isn't difficult.

The Road Trip, part 14

Day 13 -- Bedrock and Paradox

A slow, quiet, laid-back day. Jenny was down the valley, hired out to swath a field. The swather looks like what many would think of as a harvester, but it doesn't collect anything, just cuts the hay and swaths it into rows, where it dries before being collected and baled. Jenny took Val along to help drive it (the swather has a passenger seat, air conditioned cab, and FM radio, though out here there's only one station). So the kids and I relaxed all morning.

After a late lunch, Val came back and gathered us up -- Jenny wanted us all to try the swather. Okay. About five miles down the valley, almost to the end, is the town of Paradox -- technically a bit bigger than Bedrock, but set back from the main road so you'd never know it. Jenny was swathing half of a circular field, cutting huge C's back and forth, and had completed about half the diameter -- the longer, outside arcs take forever, but things speed up just a bit as the C's get smaller.

I climbed aboard and took lessons for two swaths, then took the helm. The steering is very sensitive, and cutting semicircles means no driving in a straight line. But, other than watching for prairie dog holes (and briefly lifting the cutting blade over them), it's pretty much the same as cutting a lawn, just on a much larger scale. It is a time-consuming and somewhat tedious job that takes a full day, but it needs doing.

While waiting their turns, the kids built a river fort in the dirt, with bridges and reservoirs and mountains and so forth. Val ran a one-woman bucket chain to a nearby creek to keep the fort in running water.

The sun was falling and the kids were getting hungry, and the field still not finished, so I drove us back to the ranch, dropped off the family, and then headed back to Paradox to pick up Jenny. She was finishing up the last two or three, very small C's just as I pulled up. Five minutes later, we were on the way home, and ten minutes after that, on our way to dinner.

Jenny and Dickie Joe's neighbor, Muffin, had invited us over, wanting to show off her new solar oven and cooking skills. She was very sweet, as was her dog Houdina, and the meal was excellent, all the cooking done in the solar oven. Roast bison, potatoes, whole beets, homemade pickles, and mesquite bean bread. This was amazing stuff, rolls made with flour from ground mesquite beans, chewy like a brownie without clotting in the mouth, not at all dry. I'll have to get some of this flour and try a few recipes.

As always happens around sunset, the mosquito forces attacked. Muffin had some Deepwoods Off, and I have no hesitation using chemical warfare on the little twerps, so a quick spray-down and I was clear. Val, however, opted to keep up the hand-to-bug combat; I don't know how she can take it. Dinner over, we snacked on watermelon slices and then bade our good-byes.

The Road Trip, part 13

Day 12 -- Bedrock to Gateway and back

It was suggested we visit the nearby Auto Museum in Gateway, in order to let Carson appreciate a collection of classic cars, as well as enjoy the drive and dine at the excellent Gateway Grille. So we did.

Gateway is a town-in-progress, mainly a budding resort developed by the owner of the Discovery Channel. It is fifty miles from Bedrock, the first 15 miles of which are a twisty (sigh...) gravel path through the river canyons. It wasn't a bad drive, just as scenic as when we explored it on the quads, and there were no rockfalls to muck up our progress. Finally emerging from the canyon, we reached Rte. 141, and turned left toward Gateway -- or so I thought. Nearly 30 miles later, with not yet a single sign encouraging our progress, I was beginning to think I had made a wrong turn -- which would have been difficult, as so far we had made only one turn. I decided to push on another five miles when, suddenly and with little notice, Gateway appeared. We turned in to the parking lot.

The Gateway Auto Museum is one of the early magnets for what eventually might become a larger resort. The surrounding mesas are lovely in that stark, rocky way, and the valley itself is lush with well-irrigated greenery. Cars greet visitors -- four outside, one right by the doors, and three more immediately inside. After taking a few pictures, I decided I needed the big flash, and returned to the car to get it. Back inside, attach the flash, and find the batteries are dead. Back to the car, scavenged the fresh batteries from the video cam, insert into the flash, and at last I was ready to go. Back inside.

The museum begins with a short film hosted by Walter Cronkite -- good to see ol' Uncle Walt out there. The cars, all immaculately restored, maintained, and polished, date from the 1900s to the 1970s, with one or two from the early 80s. Basically, these are not my cars, but my parents' generation is well-represented, huge 1950s art deco roadmonsters. The whole collection is quite interesting even if not personally resonant with me. The jewel of the collection, a mid-1950s Oldsmobile 88-something, one of a kind, test vehicle, was currently on tour elsewhere, so the huge turntable on which it typically rests was empty, but for a toy car sitting dead center. I appreciated the gesture. The cars are slightly cordoned off with low rails, and could easily be touched -- but, per museum policy, I resisted, and easily (the urge was not so great; these are not "my" cars). A well-done bonus is a selection of short, descriptive films, activated by motion sensor when stepping into the right zones around the museum.

We all enjoyed the cars (and had the place practically to ourselves), but what really snagged the imaginations of Amalie and Carson was a dual test track for pinewood derby racers. The museum had a dozen cars, three different models, which could be raced competitively on a manual track with automatic timing. The primary lesson is to evaluate what car designs give best performance under such conditions, but in short, it is a hands-on toy display which the both of them found captivating. With the kids anchored in one spot, I could roam the museum freely. It's not that big overall -- an hour is plenty unless one is really dazzled by particular models -- and soon I was back. Val had been monitoring them, and I relieved her, and Amie went along as well. With just us boys left alone at the track, I quickly made a plan for us to execute.

Tracks and cars -- well, let's have a runoff! We sorted the cars by models, then paired off individual cars by class to determine the fastest car of each model, diligently switching tracks and re-racing to ensure robust results not influenced by the quality of the tracks. Soon we had a red, blue, and silver car selected as best of each model, and then we were ready for the finals. Red against blue -- blue won. Red against silver -- silver won (reds really were clunkers). And then, the championship -- blue against silver. First run, silver won. Switched tracks and -- silver won again! Carson did note that the silver car went faster but the blue car went every so slightly further on the track. I commended his careful observation, but noted that we were racing for speed, and silver was the unquestioned winner. Champion -- Silver! (It was, coincidentally, the only car missing a numbered sticker, though by elimination it should have been car #5.)

Val and Amie returned and we described our experimental method and results with pride. Carson demonstrated the championship heat again, and then he and Amie were back to futzing about with the cars and tracks. But, the museum completed, we soon moved on to the small gift shop.

A stunner -- the gift shop at the Gateway Auto Museum has NO toy cars offered. NONE. Not even tiny versions of the displayed collection, not even the supercool (and absent) Oldsmobile. Oy. Carson settled on the only comp, a sizable toy motorcycle, the last in stock. Val got a shirt, Amie a plush toy and a cap. I skipped the merchandise altogether.

We retired to the Gateway Grille, and had a delicious dinner with wonderfully attentive service. Afterwards, the kids roamed the courtyard while I took advantage of the wireless connectivity, which was such a relief.

The ride back was mostly quiet. Carson nodded off quickly, and Val dozed as well until we got to the canyon. We entered just at dusk, though the darkness did not make it more challenging. We kept the windows open, and soon were spying bats silhouetted against the twilight skies. Finally pulling up to the ranch, we found Jenny and Dickie Joe sitting outside, enjoying a bonfire in the hearth. Carson roused briefly but soon drifted off on Jenny's lap. Amalie toasted marshmallows (she likes toasting them, but hardly eats any), and we spotted a satellite or two cruising along. A call to Grandma Nana (who, to the present group, also holds offices of "mom" and "mother in law") ascertained that, despite a health scare, she was doing fine and back home in Alaska.

The Road Trip, part 12

Day 11 -- Bedrock, staying put for a day

Amalie loves feeding the horses, both pitching hay and treating them with apples and carrots. The horses have figured they're on to a good thing, and show happy horse signs -- whinnying, thrashing their heads -- when she draws near.

Carson and I did a grocery run in the afternoon -- up the valley and out to Naturita, about 21 miles. A small store but well-stocked, we found everything we wanted but fresh corn. We bought some frozen corn on the cob instead, and it was delicious at dinnertime.

Both Jenny and Dickie Joe spent all day in the fields, prepping for winter planting. Carson and Amalie both helped out for most of the late afternoon. I cooked dinner and had everything ready at 7:30 and no one came in (including Val, who was taking pictures) for almost an hour. There were no leftovers by the time everyone ate up, though.

Jenny and Dickie Joe kept at the field work into the night, as all the heavy equipment has headlights and they wanted to finish.

The Road Trip, part 11

Day 10 -- Durango to Bedrock, stopping by Mesa Verde National Park

As is customary, we got off to a pokey-slow start. Best Western had a complimentary breakfast bar, which served our needs well, and afterwards Val and the kids went for a swim, having been denied the night before by an early closing hour. Of course we had a checkout deadline, so I clock-watched while they splashed about -- Amalie particularly liked the adjacent hot tub. I called the time, they piled out, and we packed up and got ready to move on.

Our first stop, though, was a mere walking distance -- the D&SNGRR depot, to explore the gift shop one more time. Val had wanted to get some posters (a very good value at a mere dollar each), but they were out of stock on Sunday. The promise of Monday re-stock was fulfilled, and posters in bag, we walked back to our car, still at the hotel. On the way, in front of the depot, I spotted a bright red parking meter, which obviously was not metering a parking space as it stood some ten feet back on the lawn. Inspecting closer, it was a collection box for a help-prevent-homelessness concern. I thought it was a novel enough method for contribution collection that I dropped in a quarter. The meter granted three hours. And, at last, we were on the road out of Durango at the crack of noon.

Our stop for the day was Mesa Verde National Park, just outside Cortez. This is vast tract of canyonlands, where about a millennium ago a native people now known as the Anasazi built various cliffside dwellings, storerooms, and temples. Getting to these ruins, however, is no short hop. The park entrance ($15 for a car) is over a mile off the highway. The visitor's center is another 15 miles, of the usual insanely twisty, mountain-conquering, Coloradan roads, though at one point the road designers, possibly in a burst of rage but more likely for general aesthetic purposes, got sufficiently annoyed with one peak and, rather than wind up and down its shoulders, simply punched a tunnel through the damn thing (and then included no lights). I applaud this decision (the tunnel, not the "no lights").

Signage along the way is woefully inconsistent -- landmarks and distances are given in apparently random pattern, and sometimes different names are used for the same destinations (sometimes the geographic feature, sometimes the ruins group, sometimes the specific ruin). Carson fell asleep, and when we got to the visitor's center, we trundled him inside and planted him and a pillow on an out of the way bench. Val took a hungry Amalie on a walkabout to find something to eat (which was indescribably frustrating; again, signage failed to provide any useful information; Mesa Verde has had several serious fires in recent years, and perhaps all the good signs have burned down), while I monitored the sleeping boy. Not our best afternoon. Val and Amie eventually returned, hot and flustered and unsatisfied, Carson woke up, and all the good tour tickets were long since sold. A ranger suggested our best chance at seeing interesting ruins with the least out-of-car time, and we followed the map she highlighted. Another six miles down a ridge, and finally we came to the ruins, though the best feature of this drive is seeing ruins on the opposite side of a canyon. We alighted, took in the sights, shot some pictures, the usual, and hopped back in the car, mollified that our trek had not been entirely in vain. Another 21 twisty, uphill miles got us out of the park, during which Carson felt ill -- so, while it is a good park, we didn't get nearly good value from our visit. It just seems a very long way to go to see what an ancient people left behind when they got fed up with the place and left.

With still a long way to go on the day, we headed off again. A gas stop in Cortez brought a very strange sight -- super, 91 octane priced lower than mid-grade 88 octane gas. I suppose the super supply had not yet sold out from the previous delivery, gasoline prices being as volatile as they are in recent weeks. I topped off with super.

Rather than take yet another scenic mountain drive, I opted to head into the lesser hills nearer the Utah border. This is horse country -- I cannot recall seeing another ranch animal the entire way. There were also some crop fields, the most unexpected and attractive of which were acres and acres of sunflowers, in full bloom. Wow. Our route went basically north, with few towns and all of them small. Finally the road led into red rock land, hills and valleys, like Mars with scrub brush scattered about, land with no apparent use in farming, ranching, or mining. Were it not for the actual road, there would be no signs of civilization for miles. Stark, demanding, beautiful country. We saw maybe half a dozen other vehicles over a 65 mile stretch, and one balancing rock (erosion having eaten the bottom more deeply).

The sun set and there was but twilight gleaming when we re-entered Paradox Valley, the last 20 miles to the ranch. It was dark as we turned on to the gravel approach road, but then -- firelight. Surprise! Jenny and Dickie Joe were still in residence, sitting out enjoying a bonfire before bedtime. The storms of last week had crimped their field work schedule, and they decided against going to Lake Powell in order to catch up. We were all glad to see each other, and lucky me -- there were a few leftover pork chops, which went down a treat.

The Road Trip, part 10

Day 9 -- Silverton to Durango, and then back to Silverton, and then back to Durango. You can't make this stuff up, folks.

We woke early -- I had set my cell phone alarm for 6:00 am -- and packed everything back into the car by 6:45. Then, one by one, we transferred the kids from the bed to the backseat. Amazingly, though, they both woke up, determined not to miss anything. Making a quick final check, I noticed that fresh coffee had been set out, and poured up two cups for groggy adults. Thus bolstered, we set off, 50 mountainous miles south to Durango.

There were at least two passes over 10,000 feet -- they may have been slightly higher than Monarch but, inconveniently, the peak altitudes were not marked. Saw a few deer standing by the road, and one yearling actually bounding along (until we got close, when he stopped, stared, and bolted in the other direction). A gas station and convenience store near a resort area provided both breakfast and bathrooms, and we cruised into Durango around 8:15. Just north of town, we spotted the narrow gauge railroad tracks just to our left, and soon a small, yellow, one-man car zipped by. I guessed -- and later asked and had confirmed -- that this was a track inspection, rolling out before the first train run of the day.

We zeroed in on the train depot, but upon spotting a Best Western (one of several hotels suggested by the train clerk over the phone), I went in and made a reservation for that night. Having found our place for the day, Val took the kids inside to change their clothes (still in pajamas) in the lobby restrooms, and I prepped our small daybags for the train ride. Finally outfitted for the train, we walked over and picked up our tickets. The kids, as usual, explored the gift shop. We boarded our car -- an open-air gondola, no windows -- and took four seats. (We had assigned seats but no one made a fuss about this, so we sat nearest the back of the car instead.) Then Val sent me back for coffee; okay. I bought the free-refill mug, which we used several times in the concession car on both rides. Our train, the 9:45, last of the day, blasted forth its whistle, and we were off.

The rails are pretty much flat getting out of Durango and a little bit up the valley, but soon begin climbing into the mountains, and from that point the entire ride is uphill to Silverton; altitude gain is about 2700 feet. Soon after beginning the rise, the train runs alongside the Animas River for much of the line, crossing over a few times. If you've ever imagined what a rock-strewn mountain river looks like, the Animas is probably a perfect match for your expectations. Rough, rocky, white waters, gorge-cutting, challenging, a tough river though not an obvious killer; it could be rafted by the daringest of daredevils. (Not me, thanks.) As with pretty much everywhere else, Colorado saturates the senses with stunning scenery and spectacular sights. Whether looking east, over the valley, or west, up various cliffs, it is a sight well worth seeing.

Not surprisingly, the uphill run requires the train to work harder. The Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad (D&SNGRR, yes, they really use that too-long acronym) is a genuine coal-fired boiler train, and so twice had to stop for water. Mountain spring output channeled into tanks provide plenty of available water, which otherwise drains into the Animas. (The tanks and pipes are quite leaky, which I expect is deliberate, keep the water circulating and prevent any mineralization or buildup of algae.) At one water stop, immediately beside the Animas, the riverbank is a rocky slope, from which quickly poked up several chipmunks. They obviously have learned a good lesson -- the noisy train stopping means it is time to charm humans into tossing snacks. And, of course, we did (popcorn for us; gotta be better than corn chips or candy).

Each train ride is 3 1/2 hours, and that's a bit long to command the attention of youngsters. Carson napped down after about two hours, and Amalie a half-hour later, so they were both asleep for the last ten to fifteen miles, which is the stretch the train must work the hardest. Riding in an open-air car, we were dusted with cinders (I got one or two in my eye, and they do sting; not hot, but just irritating). We shrouded both kids best we could with jackets, but by the time we reached Silverton, our clothes were all covered with ashes and soot. Up by Silverton, the Animas is much tamer, more a wide brook just getting started. We hove to in Silverton right on time, and the kids roused without too much fuss. We had about two hours to explore the town.

Honestly, I had seen enough of Silverton the night before, looking for a hotel, but it was daytime and most stores were open, so we walked over to the main street and sought lunch. A place called the Brown Bear Cafe looked promising, and did provide good burgers. Fortified, we headed back out, and Carson pointed out a souvenir store he wanted to explore. Okay. These types of stores don't much interest me, as much of the merchandise is mass-produced items (of variable quality) that can be found elsewhere, sometimes for less -- but then, I'm a jaded 40something, and he's only 3 (now officially 3 1/2, as of August 11). I picked out a woodcrafted nightlight, and reminded the kids to look for things they cannot easily find elsewhere. Nonetheless, Carson chose polished rocks, and Amalie selected some postcards. Well, neither is so bad. Val found a southwest-style candle holder as a gift for Jenny.

Things purchased, we wandered up the main drag aimlessly, then east a few blocks to where a stream was bridged. We took pictures, both of the family and surrounding mountains. Silverton is too small and low-profile to get lost in, so we easily found the train depot again. We climbed aboard, took our seats, and at 3:30 on the dot, the whistle blasted and we were off again. Once out of the Silverton valley, the train is downhill, and the engine works very little -- only one water stop. Twenty minutes down track, Val spotted a young black bear halfway up the hillside -- it watched us a moment, then went back to foraging. (She's the best at spotting critters -- sighted a black bear on a Canadian road trip in 2004, as well -- I never spot anything unless it is standing almost in front of me, waving a flag.)

The D&SNGRR has one real stop between Durango and Silverton, a small, passenger-only depot named Rockwood. Our train had stopped on the way up to pick up a handful of passengers, and was to stop again on the south trip. As we approached the station and began to slow, Carson, who had been playing with his Telluride-discovered Hot Wheels car, jumped up to grab the handrail and see what was happening, and the car in his hand smacked the rail and bounced overboard. I quickly sighted it and gauged some landmarks -- it landed on a tie on an adjoining track, which had just sided off from our track, nearby a shed. I sped forward to find our conductor, Mike, and told him Carson had dropped a toy and I knew exactly where it was, could I run back for it? Conductor Mike said no, we were only going to be stopping a moment (true), but he radioed the train-end conductor about it, and they asked the line inspector -- who would make the last run of the day -- to check as well. Carson was disappointed, but recognized that it was his own actions that led to the car being lost, and that he should use his pockets for toys. Plus there was the hope that the train personnel would find it.

Conductor Mike took up position near us for a stretch -- the open-air cars make it very easy to lean out and check the train fore and aft -- and was happy to answer some questions. He pointed out where a scene from Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid was filmed (I haven't see the movie in years, and didn't recall the scene -- a train robbery, naturally). I asked him what the last movie to use the D&SNGRR was, and he named The Prestige -- a movie which, coincidentally, I had seen on satellite TV at the ranch for the first time just days earlier. There was a very brief shot of a mountain railroad -- an establishing shot for "Colorado 1899" -- and I thought that, hey, there can't be too many trains that run along mountainous cliffs. Sure enough, Conductor Mike said, that was the D&SNGRR, and we had just come around the turn seen in the movie -- he pointed back toward the curve behind us, which we could easily see since the train was chugging back around the next curve. Conductor Mike was brimming with train trivia, and entertained us until his job required him back to attention.

Carson was quite sedate for the next few miles, but perked up to his usual, energetic self for the last stretch into Durango depot. We spotted some groundhogs, who popped out of their holes as the train rumbled by. Our train ground to a stop, right on time, and we disembarked. Conductor Mike told us that Inspector Jason would be the last off the line, and he might find Carson's toy car. Another agent told us that Inspector Jason would be along shortly, since the inspection car stopped about a mile north at a maintenance depot, but that he would bike down to finish up his day's reports. The agent also told me how to drive to Rockwood Station just in case. While Val and the kids roamed the gift shop, I waited and watched -- and a man biked up. I asked if he was Inspector Jason, he affirmed, and I told him my boy was the one who dropped a car. Jason apologized, but he could not find the car. He described where he had searched, and it sounded to me like he had missed the key area, that communications were a bit garbled and described the wrong side of the train. I thanked him and told Carson the hard news -- no toy car (yet). But, I knew how to get back to the station, and would drive up right after we checked in to our hotel. We did that, and I asked Carson if he wanted to drive up with me. No, he wanted to go swimming, so I departed alone.

The D&SNGRR agent's (I wish I'd gotten his name) directions were true -- up Rte. 550 for 18 miles, then turn right. The road down to Rockwood Depot was twisty (typical) but there were no turnoffs to confuse the issue. Rockwood Depot -- little more than a gravel yard -- appeared. I turned in, and drove almost to the end, where the rail sidings began branching off. I walked directly to the shed -- a Best Western-lent flashlight at the ready, there was but a glimmer of sunlight left as the sun had set 20 minutes ago -- and started searching the side track back toward the main line. Not twenty steps along, there it was, blue side up, sitting on a tie. I picked it up, briefly studied it (no damage), and walked back to the car. Lucky little Hot Wheels toy; if we lose it and find it again, I'm taking it to Las Vegas, because it will have proven itself one of the luckiest cars in the history of the world.

I drove back to Durango. On the way back up to Rte. 550, I spotted some quadruped critter -- fox or small coyote, probably -- slinking off into the bushes. Good hunting, little beastie. A better night for you than me, as this was an extra 42 miles of Colorado that I was not compelled to see a second and third time.

Back at the hotel, I spoke with Carson. He agreed that he will use his pockets to hold his toy cars more often, especially if there is a chance he might drop one where we cannot easily recover it. Then I pulled out the blue car and handed it to him; he was very happy. That made it worth the many extra miles.

However, everyone was hungry. I ventured out on foot to find some dinner, but many of Durango's eateries pull in the sidewalks at 9:00 pm on a Sunday night, and it was just after, curse the luck. After a few blocks, I happened upon a bar, Farquahrt's, that was still serving pub foods, so I sat down and placed a take-out order -- a pizza, salad, and turkey sandwich. While waiting, I had a draft pale ale, which was delicious. So I had another, and then nursed a third. I cannot remember the last time I had three beers, and certainly not within 20 minutes. (I paid for this indulgence during the night and into the next day -- cor, but alcohol can assault the gastrointestinal tract in so many ways.) Food secured (thanks so much, Bartender Mark!), I headed back. Val was dozing but roused to munch some pizza, and the kids were ravenous -- they tore the pizza (which was delicious, much better than I had expected) to shreds. The room's small refrigerator preserved the sandwich and salad and few pizza remains for the next day's drive.

Teeth brushed, we bedded down for the night. Long, long day, some frustrations, but much more fun.

The Road Trip, part 9

Day 8 -- Bedrock to Silverton, by way of Telluride

We got a woefully late start -- after 1:00 pm -- and our travel plans were complicated, pleasantly but drawing out the driving time, by Jenny taking us to Telluride. We parked the car just past the turnoff at Placerville, tumbled into the pickup, and journeyed down the valley toward the ski resort town. However, we did not drive into Telluride proper, but instead drove up the western side of the valley to a tiny burb known as Mountain Village.

Colorado's state transportation authority underwrites a free tramway from Mountain Village into Telluride, in part to keep down car traffic, and that this is also a more reliable means of public transportation in all forms of weather than buses would be. It takes three tram rides to reach Telluride -- one downhill to a shopping center, another up the next ridge (where riders can hop off or stay on), and then a long drop to Telluride at the bottom of the valley. We got off at both midway stops to take pictures. At the first stop, there was a metal grated staircase -- to facilitate snow melt, and provide good wintertime traction for ski booted pedestrians -- through which Carson espied a penny. I told him there was no way to get it (and we spotted a few other coins as well), and he reluctantly left it behind.

Soon were in town. It's a lot like other towns in the Rockies -- no tall buildings (three stories, maximum), everything rather cramped together, walking and biking the preferred methods of transport. At the southern end of the valley, high above the town, is Bridal Veil Falls, the headwaters of the San Miguel. While walking along, I found a dime (pointed it out to Carson, who recovered it with glee), and then spotted a couple of sticks, branches that had been trimmed or broken. I picked up the smaller one, while Amie took the longer, which made an ideal walking stick for her. Eventually we reached our destination, a candy store Jenny likes, decorated in a 1940s diner style, complete with soda fountain, ice cream bar, and grill (which wasn't serving at the time). It was interesting enough, and the kids picked out a few sweets (something that is getting tiresome from my point of view). Before getting back on the tram, I bought a pack of chewing gum, with a purpose. And then I found another dime in the street, which I gave to Amalie.

Riding back up the tram, we spotted a large rodent critter, sort of like a groundhog grande; we had sighted a few on the way down as well, and were not sure what they were. We rode through the top station this time, and when disembarking at the shopping center, asked the attendant. He said they were marmots, obviously a rather common thing to see.

I took Carson by the hand, walked over to the metal staircase, and asked if he remembered where the penny was. He did. I pulled out a piece of gum, chewed it up, and put part of it on the end of the stick. Thus equipped with a cutting-edge, high-tech durable currency recovery system, I poked the sticky stick down through the grate and, after a moment's manipulation, extracted the penny. Carson was impressed. We wandered down the stairs, spotting and recovering more coins as we could (the stick was only so long, and the last several inches of it was too thick for the grating). Dimes, pennies, even a nickel -- all were brought up from the dirty depths. Several passersby watched us, somewhat amazed. One even asked if we had lost something -- "no, finding things!" I replied.

I mentioned to Carson he should put all the coins in his pockets, because if he dropped one, it would go back down through the grate. Nonetheless, one penny did fall from his hand, and try though we might we could not re-spot it, so that one got away.

After about 20 minutes -- time I insisted was mine to squander, as I was having fun with my kids -- we could not see any more coins to recover. But then -- treasure! Val spotted a toy car! I wasn't sure the gum would be equal to the task, but as most are made of plastic these days (not metal like when I was a kid), it was sufficiently light to yield to our efforts. I pulled it up, Carson helped me maneuver it through the grate, and there it was -- a genuine Hot Wheels car. For Carson, all the coins immediately faded to background. He quickly analyzed the car and concluded that he had the same model, in a different paint scheme. And he was right; smart kid.

We lined up the coins and car for a trophy picture -- eight dimes, four pennies, one nickel, 89 cents total (plus one penny lost). Including the two dimes found in Telluride, we scored $1.09 and one Hot Wheels car.

(Advance notice, the toy car story gets better.)

We drove back to Placerville, where Val and I returned to our car. The kids stayed with Jenny as we drove to Ridgway, taking a long detour to see some valley property she owned, on which eventually may be a house. Finally splitting up in Ridgway, Jenny headed back to Bedrock and we turned south, hoping for Durango. But it was late, it was getting dark, I wasn't inclined to drive unfamiliar mountain roads at night, and so when we reached Silverton a little before 9:00 we decided to stay there if we could find a hotel room.

There are several hotels along the main road, none of which had rooms, and all of which have an unwritten policy that any "No Vacancy" sign shall not be readable from the car (one actually used a post-it note in the front door, despite the neon "OPEN" sign). Having struck out five times (in a town which, due to its size, surprised me that it had at least five hotels), we turned off in hopes of finding another possibility that had advertised itself back at the city line. We never found it, but did happen upon a bed & breakfast which was still open. The proprietor told me she had one room -- a limit imposed by the housekeeper feeling poorly -- that we could have, and she gave me a small discount since I told her we'd be leaving before breakfast. I took it. First floor, large bed, impeccable turn-of-the-last-century decor (the building, Alma House, is solid stone, built in 1898), shower/tub in the corner of the main room and not in the bathroom. There was also a sitting room with coffee and some leftover dessert bars, a hot tub in the garden, and wireless access. Despite the hour, we spoke a bit with the proprietor, Miss Pam, formerly a schoolteacher in San Antonio. This could not have been more perfect.

Val and Amie soaked in the spa (Carson said it was too warm) and sat outside a while. I logged on, blogged, helped Carson to bed (he asked to lie down, which is rare). I lugged a down mattress from an upstairs storage closet and set myself up on the floor, turning in after Val and the kids had crashed in the bed. It was plenty comfortable. A long day with a very surprisingly good ending.

If you are ever in Silverton, consider staying at The Inn Of The Rockies, 220 E. 10th Street. You'll be glad you did.

The Road Trip, part 8

Day 7 -- Bedrock

The day began with tree-planting. Jenny had picked up some young shade trees to plant near the bunkhouse, so Dickie Joe revved up the track-hoe to start digging holes. Carson soon joined him in the tiny cab, and had a smile plastered across his face the entire time. When they got down, the first hole dug, he declared "that was funnn!"

Carson mans ("boys"?) the controls under Dickie Joe's watchful eye.

Dickie Joe offered me the track-hoe, and I figured why not? I climbed aboard, listened to the two-minute tutorial, and was off. Operating a track-hoe for a basic function like digging holes is comparable to playing a video game. Two main hand joysticks take care of the raising and lowering, bucket curling, and rotating. Two other sticks for motion, including spinning the tank treads to rotate the entire track-hoe. A throttle. A couple of other controls that I didn't need and so didn't learn. Anyway, it's not hard. I finished digging the particular hole for a larger tree, then scraped the dirt back in. The soil thus broken up, Val took the helm and dug the final tree hole. All of us finished planting the tree, and then we had breakfast.

My turn...

...and Valerie gets in on the fun too.

Then I drove the track-hoe -- at top speed it might be moving at eight miles an hour -- down the lane a bit to the ranch manager's home, where we planted one more tree.

Later, I was helping install a swamp cooler, when Jenny and Val drove up on the four-wheel quads, kids mounted fore and aft with Jenny (there's a rear-mounted toolbox that acts like a high seat back, so there was no way Carson could tumble off). Since the installation was down to a two-man job, I was shanghaied into a quad excursion. (Unfortunately it was for much longer than I thought, and so ended up with a sunburned arm. My jeans and hat protected other parts, and my left arm has had a "driver's arm" tan for decades, but my right is still susceptible.) We motored up to Rte. 90, went east about two miles, then turned off onto a graded dirt road that headed up into the north canyon. Cliffs soon loomed overhead on both sides as we pushed on alongside the Dolores.

Ready for off. (It's hard to see, but Carson is tucked up behind Jenny on the yellow quad.)

Canyon walls -- just beautiful.

The kids check out the aqueduct remains.

Kicking back atop a sun-drenched boulder.

I take after my kids.

The entire view is captivating. The high and crumbling cliffs, the rocky slopes littered with scrub and scree long fallen, the muddy Dolores splashing along on our left. A few miles in the San Miguel River ends by converging into the Dolores; we arrived here just in time to witness an eagle soaring along the top of the western cliff face, casting a shadow just below it, gracefully coasting until turning where the canyon bent back again. The dirt road continued up the San Miguel, and we went further along, until we came to the remains of an century-old aqueduct built high on the opposite wall for mining operations back in the day. Having seen that, we turned back and pulled off at a slightly secret picnic site (if you don't know it's there, you'd never find it) down by the riverbank. The kids stripped down and splashed in the muddy shallows. I roamed through the brush a bit and spotted uncounted lizards. Finally, we packed up -- we hadn't brought more than a snack's worth of food, and were getting hungry -- and headed home to the ranch. Amalie had taken the controls (under Jenny's watchful eye) on the trip in, so Carson got the conn on the ride out, and did quite well. Start to finish, we were out four-wheeling for about three, maybe four hours. On the whole we are not keeping a close eye on the time, not out here. The sun's position is accurate enough.

The hat proved its worthiness by holding fast to my head even when running along at 30 mph. I like this hat.

After sunset, we got a second amazing lightning show, mostly atop the northern range. Some striking bolts, some horizontal bolts, some deep in the clouds lighting up the skies, and some cells far to the east. We sat around a small campfire (well controlled in a rock hearth) and enjoyed the show. Later, some rain fell, but the storm was in the quiet parts by the time it passed over us.

The coolest roadsign in existence.

Living the vida rancho can wear out a li'l guy. Deep sleep well earned (and moved to a proper bed soon after).

The Road Trip, part 7

Day 6 -- Montrose to Bedrock

I picked up the cable I needed at an Office Depot very early in the day, so perhaps I can add some pictures before we get home. Not soon, though, as for the next few days we will be far removed from Web access.

We got up (slowly), had breakfast, packed while the kids did some more trampoline jumping, and were about to leave when Jake got up. We bid him a final thanks and good-bye, and were on our way. We were almost out of Montrose when we passed a jerky stand, so we turned back and stocked up. Good stuff.

The drive, through increasingly remote and beautiful corners of Colorado, was uneventful, other than that it rained on and off. One noteworthy stretch climbed up the side of a valley, gaining height quickly and making the roadside slope dropoff all that much more difficult to survive. What was initially surprising was that much of this part of the route had no guardrails whatsoever. This is to facilitate easy snow removal in the wintertime -- simply push it over the cliff unimpeded -- but it does get a bit nervewracking.

Finally entering the valley wherein lies Bedrock, we had a long, almost straight drive down high scrubland, with occasional warnings of cattle grazing or cattle guards along the road, but we didn't see a single cow on the way. Bedrock has a post office and a store, but is little more than a very loose collection of houses and trailers near the Dolores River at the bottom of the valley. Only the main road is paved. It is quite nice. We found the ranch with no difficulty.

Driving down the valley, we saw a storm at the far end, huge sheets of rain and the occasional thunderbolt -- but arriving at the ranch, it was still dry. The views in every direction are amazing -- steep canyon walls north and south, each ridge split by a canyon, the climbing valley floor east, and mountaintops in Utah to the west. I stepped out to take a few landscape shots, and noticed another storm moving in, drifting up the southern canyon. It soon reached our site, and drenched everything with elemental enthusiasm, turning red soil into murky mud. The lightning mostly stayed high on the ranges, which was agreeable. The kids made good use of the mud afterward. The rainstorm was a rare thing, as the valley around Bedrock typically gets only 5-6 inches of rain a year.

Rainstorm.

Canyon north.

Canyon south.

Mountains west.

After the storm passed (though high clouds remained prevalent), I noticed that some clouds floated along inside the valley -- ridges were visible above them. Dang, this is a deep valley.

Carson makes use of the afterstorm mud.

And so does Amie.

Freelance ranch hand.

The kids, muddied, hang with Aunt Laura on the heavy equipment. Faithful hound Fudge attends.

Hay -- one of the ranch's raisons d'etre. Each bale weighs around 1400 pounds, and is sized to fit in a pickup bed.

Hay bales, with the chronicler (6'1", plus hat) for scale.

Amie has gotten quite adept at driving a quad (properly supervised, of course, but they're not at all complicated to operate).

The Road Trip, part 6

Day 5 -- Monument to Montrose

We finally packed up to head further west. Carson had taken a shine to a small scooter that his cousins outgrew years ago, and had so much fun toodling about on it (and growing skillful rapidly), that Aunt Rose gave it to him. He said Thank You without being prompted (which I love him doing). I folded it up and stowed it in the trunk.

About halfway up the canyon on the way to Monarch Pass, there is a turnoff amidst a village of touristy-type attractions -- river raft rides, helicopter rides -- that leads up to the main attraction, Royal Gorge, and the suspension bridge built across it, 1053 feet above the Arkansas River. (I have a vague recollection of having visited here once in my youth, but am not certain, and perhaps it was another high suspension bridge elsewhere in the Rockies. I did visit a high bridge somewhere in the west.) Admission allows visitors to cross the bridge, ride on shuttles across, wander about, enjoy a few rides -- and if you leave in under an hour, they rebate some of the price. I checked our receipt against my cell phone, and timed ourselves. Carson and I walked across faster than the ladies did, but eventually we all congregated on the far side. The bridge is bedecked with the flags of all fifty states, so we made sure to take some footage at the Texas flag, and I also posed by the Connecticut banner.

That's over 1000 feet down to the river.

The bridge is the most popular way to see the gorge, but other methods exist. Far below we saw river rafts drift along on the partly white water. There's a cable car that is a bit higher than the bridge. Another option is a belay swing which tosses riders off one of the highest points above the gorge, flying briefly into free space. And there are the aforementioned helicopter rides, which do a flyby past the bridge and sundry. The first helicopter tour we saw did a simple pass parallel to the bridge, but the next one banked sharply above the far end and then did a power dive into the gorge. Oh mercy, that was a sight to see; I cannot imagine riding it.

We finished our time at Royal Gorge with the kids and Val taking a couple of quick spins on the carousel, and then we left (just cutting under the one hour mark, so we got some of our admission price rebated). And Carson found a penny.

Been there, done it.

Salida is the last stop of note before climbing up Monarch Pass, so I pulled over and topped off the tank, as gas would only be getting more expensive westward. To give us the most oomph for the climb, I pumped super 91 octane, at a cost of $4.159 per gallon. This marks the first time I have paid more than $4/gal.

Staying in third gear most of the way and tooling along at 45 mph, we crested Monarch Pass with little difficulty -- the Civic did great! The pass is 11,312 feet according to the signpost, the highest elevation we were going to see. There's a store at the top, souvenirs and all sorts of things, and we'd stopped there before (however, this was our first summitting in the Civic) and knew the kids would want some bits. Plus it makes for a good stretch and rest stop.

We made it!

I've lived in Texas for almost 18 years, and though I have, very sporadically, tried to find a thematically correct cowboy hat, I have never come close to finding one that looked good atop my head. It has never been an important matter to me, I've never tried hard to locate a good one. Imagine my surprise when, high atop a Coloradan mountain, there was a small selection of hats and the first one I picked up and donned sang out that this was The One. I checked in mirrors. I canvassed Val and the kids. Simply amazing; I found a hat. MY hat. Black felt with a colored bead band, and can take a beating.

I got me a hat!

Onward, over the pass and down into the high mountain valleys of western Colorado. The scenery is stunning, the drive is fairly routine though far from tedious, and the weather was ideal -- heavy clouds but little rain, so it was comfortable all-around, not too hot nor cool, not too dry nor humid. Proof? We saw dozens of motorcycles going both directions, well over 100 though we didn't keep count. The motorcycles were out in force, solos and squadrons. Motorcycling isn't my thing, but I can fully understand why so many were out this day.

A brief stretch stop beside a very full reservoir.

As we traversed the final hills before Montrose, suddenly the sun, high clouds, and landscape lined up and treated us to a spectacular double rainbow. We pulled over and took many pictures. The ends (which of course are not really ends) were visible in front of trees and hillside, so I suppose we could have tried for the legendary pot of gold, but decided otherwise. A few miles on the rainbow reappeared against an even better backdrop, a mountain meadow, so we stopped again and got more pictures (and I got my boots very muddied). Thanks for the light show, powers that be.

The first rainbow (a double, though as usual the secondary is hard to see).

Couldn't quite fit the whole arc in the shot.

The second rainbow, clearly a double (full size).

And, the other end.

Finally arriving in Montrose, we decided this would be our night's stop. Val's sister Laura lives here, but she was -- oh, irony -- already at Jenny's ranch following her backpacking trip. Her son Jake was home, though, and welcomed us warmly. The kids immediately found the trampoline in the backyard, and went to it. After a while Jake climbed aboard and showed them some of the flips and stunts he's mastered after years of practice; they were impressed. We had a late dinner at a local brewpub, Smuggler's, which was a good ending to the day. Good food, great service, excellent in-house beers.

Back to the house, the kids finally dropped off, Val too, and I was about to turn off the TV when the channel I was watching -- some premium channel, I don't remember which -- aired 84 Charing Cross Road. I had had this movie raved to me (particularly back in the mid-1980s, when it came out), but never had seen it, so I decided to give it a try -- and stayed up watching the entire thing. It is a delightful character piece, negligible action, dialogue-driven and much of it very witty, the story of a New York City writer who loves British works but, since she can never find them in NYC, begins a mail correspondence with a second-hand seller in London (the title is the address of the fictional bookstore). The writer and the bookstore staff never meet, yet have a fulfilling friendship through the post. A little treat of a movie, which are so hard to find today.

And then, finally, it was lights out.

The Road Trip, part 5

Day 4 -- Still in Monument

Monument was so relaxing that we decided to stay an extra day -- after all, we're on vacation, and our agenda is very loose at best. We took the kids to a local park for some climb-around time, and they loved it, like always. It wasn't a very big park but it had plenty of playscape structures, including a merry-go-round, which are getting harder to find every year.

Play carousel in the park. These are getting harder to find.

I did a short shopping run, which reminded me of two things -- one, prices in Colorado tend to be higher than at home (or maybe that's just Safeway's pricing for those who lack their affinity card), and two, airtight packages sealed at lower altitudes tend to inflate. Potato chip bags look like pillows.

Late in the afternoon, after the park visit, the clouds which had threatened and thundered for over a day finally broke loose the rain with a vengeance -- thick, torrential downpours, including some small hailstones. It was a very good soaking. Wish we'd get a bit more of that back in Austin.

The Road Trip, part 4

Day 3 -- Denver area

Monday morning, the weather was gorgeous -- sunny, cool, light breezes. I had breakfast on the back porch with no company except Chinook, the dog who lives at the home we're visiting. I love a quiet morning alone; Val and the kids slept in, as did their cousin Kyle. Father Mike was already off to work, and everyone else was flying home from visiting their grandparents (my in-laws) in Alaska. So it was very much quiet time, and the day's plans called for only a short drive later in the afternoon.

We needed the downtime after the long driving days, so we goofed off all morning. The kids pulled some tricycles out of the garage -- far too small for their cousins, having long since outgrown them, but perfect for little ones.

Around 3:00, we headed out for the one trip on the day, up to Centennial, just south of Denver. My aunt and uncle, Erica and Steve, had moved here a few years ago, a fact which I had completely forgotten until my father reminded me (boy, did I feel dumb, but they had lived near San Diego for decades and that's where we had visited them previously), suggesting a visit since we'd be in the area. So we did, giving them a chance to see their grandniece (last visit: age seven months) and grandnephew (never). Plus, they would have their granddaughter Danica, about a year older than Amalie, for a few hours after school (year-round public schools are not rare in Colorado).

Carson fell asleep on the drive up, and so stayed sacked out on a bed for about two hours, and Amalie immediately ran off with Danica and another friend to play Barbies with a passion. So much for visiting face time with their great-aunt and great-uncle. Kids, sigh.

Carson eventually woke up, and Danica's mom Candy came by to collect her. It was good to see my cousin for a bit, even briefly. They left, and the rest of us went to dinner, where Carson revived fully and was at his expository best, followed by a visit to Dairy Queen (the good kind, with vanilla and chocolate custard, and chocolate, cherry, or butterscotch dips; in Austin, all we get is vanilla with chocolate dip, feh). Carson almost set a world record for getting his face messy. Afterward, Uncle Steve perplexed him with his car remote, getting Carson to touch the car and setting off the lights and horn, confusing the poor little guy somewhat. We visited for a bit longer (Amalie playing solo with Barbies -- Danica has her own Barbie-loaded bedroom in her grandparents' house, though she never stays in it), took some pictures, and said our good-byes. It was a delightful visit. Ec & Steve's home is very welcoming, spacious, flows well, and beautifully appointed. They have no second thoughts about their move to Colorado.

Amalie gets a hug from her great-aunt Erica...

...as does Carson.

The trip home was annoying to me, because I-25 has almost no lights between Centennial and Monument, we were very low on gas as we finally approached our exit, and the high, thin air (and it was overall uphill the entire way) simply kills the engine's compression. It runs fine, but power is limited. When we pulled off at our exit and gassed up, I made sure to fill with the mid-range octane (which up here, is 87, the "regular" back in Austin; the regular in these parts is 86 or even 85). I may buy one tank of super to ensure getting over the high pass with relative ease.

I was tempted to go to the Rockies-Nationals game Monday night, but easily shook it off. Visiting family was better, and I've been to Coors Field before.

The Road Trip, part 3

Day 2 -- Shamrock to Monument, by way of Amarillo

Way back in 1977, my family took a long vacation, drove our new RV from Connecticut to Yellowstone and back. We got used to campgrounds, pull in, plug in, eat dinner, hit the sack, get up and back on the road. And we had our cairn terrier, Candy, with us. As with most dogs, she was adaptable to this way of life -- as long as she got fed and her humans were about, all was well.

One morning, about an hour along the road from where we had stayed the night before, someone asked where Candy was? Not back here! Not here. Not up behind the pedals, where she liked to sleep. Oops.

We turned back, and at the campground, she was sitting underneath the picnic table at the site we'd stayed. Good dog; we're sorry. I picked her up, climbed back in the RV, and we were on our way again. And after that, we always made sure to check for Candy before leaving. Never again left her behind.

The art-deco former Conoco station in the daylight.

Ramone's House of Body Art (note the Cadillac Range in the background).

Leaving Shamrock yesterday, about five miles along the highway, Carson realized he didn't have his plush dinosaur. Oh dear. No one could recall specifically packing it. We exited and pulled over, but a quick search of the cab and trunk found no dino. I called the hotel and asked them to check, and we turned back. Arrived in Shamrock -- Ramone's again! -- and the clerk immediately handed me the key to our room. I rummaged the bed Carson had slept in, removed the coverlet, the blanket -- and at this point, the crumpled sheet looked a bit lumpy -- and yes, tangled in the sheet, the dinosaur. Reunited, we were back on the road.

Heading toward Amarillo, we sighted a wind farm far to the north, though none of the turbines were in motion.

In Amarillo, we pulled off for lunch, gas, and a quick trip to Wal-mart. As with McDonald's, this is never a preferred stop for me, but it provides a mostly reliable product mix (you know what you'll find) and it's right off the highway. Carson wrangled four Hot Wheels cars, Amalie got a new game for her Leapster (which was well worth the cost), and I got what I wanted -- spray paint, two cans. Lunch was so disappointing I will not name the establishment (a regional chain). And then we were off again to the day's only scheduled stop.

A few miles west of Amarillo is a unique work of art, unmarked but easy to find -- Cadillac Ranch. Park along the I-40 frontage road, enter a field through a gate, and about 100 yards in is the sculpture, ten 1950s-vintage Cadillacs buried near-upright in the ground, tails (most with fins) held high. And all of them covered, inside and out, with glorious layers and layers and layers and layers of spray paint. Folks visit Cadillac Ranch armed with cameras and paint, and I made sure we had both.

Cadillac Ranch -- ten 1950s-vintage Caddies, upright in the soil, spectacularly adorned.

Carson had been drowsy in the car after our lunch stop, but I told him to stay awake, that he would like our next stop. Cadillac Ranch, as with the U-Drop Inn, is commemorated in Cars, as part of the mountain range around the town of Radiator Springs. Sure enough, once out of the car and on the path, he perked up all the way, broke into a run to get to the cars. It was very windy, so I told him he had to be sure to spray the paint downwind. We still got some on our hands.

Carson checks out one of the cars.

The author tags a car, progeny within.

Love those olde-tyme tailfins!

I tagged at least four cars with Amalie's name, several with Carson's, and added random graphic elements here and there. Cadillac Ranch is what you make of it. We all took turns with red and green spray cans. The grounds around the cars are littered with empties (we discarded ours in the dumpster near the gate). Paint cans empty, pictures and video taken, we departed, well-satisfied with our visit.

Tag!

You're it!

Tag team.

Val got in on the fun too.

Cadillac Ranch as we left it.

We headed back into Amarillo to turn north, and so didn't really get on the road until after 3:00. Oof. Not what I was hoping for, as with the addition of the Shamrock to Amarillo stretch, this was to be a slightly longer drive than day one, which I had not anticipated.

The final Texas stretch through the panhandle brought three sights -- operating oil pumps, huge corn fields, and another wind farm, this one close by our route, 16 huge turbine towers, several rotating. Energy is a key issue in our world, and if anyone thinks we don't have room for more wind farms or massive solar arrays, they are wrong. Wind farms of course need to be placed where the wind is, but sunlight falls everywhere, and some of the regions in west Texas could easily be adapted for such uses, because there's a lot of west Texas and much of it isn't doing anything that wouldn't be better converted to energy uses.

We knew New Mexico was approaching, but the first indication was a sign informing us we were entering Mountain Time Zone. New Mexico started out flat but soon got a little hilly, but the drive was easy. Most of the way it was very cloudy -- not just a lot of clouds, but they were stuck, hardly moved at all. Our travel westward ended at the town of Raton, up against the early edge of the Rocky Mountains. We stopped for dinner, then turned north onto I-25 for the climb into Colorado.

Driving up the Raton Pass, I told Amalie to look at the mountains on either side, and to be ready to see BIG mountains as these were rather small. She was incredulous -- "but Daddy, these are huge!" That's just inexperience talking, though she has seen the Rockies before, just too young to remember well. And sure enough, after we cleared the pass, the few mountains to the east fell away but the ones to the west got bigger. The sun was setting, and a tiny crescent moon sometimes peeked through the clouds, but it too soon set.

We motored on, stopping once in Pueblo (and getting briefly lost in a truly dismally designed exit and re-entry), but finally arrived in Monument just as the clock displayed 11:00. Carson had dozed off many miles back, but woke up for a few hours of fun time, lasting into the early morning. I think I was the last awake, finally dropping off at 1:30 am. And this is not so unusual, road trip or no.

Surprisingly, our cell phones picked up the time zone change without having to cycle power. That's a feature the older phones did not do. Nice.

(There will be pictures added a bit later, but I need to get a cable -- forgot to bring it, curse me.)

(Update: it's November, but pictures and links are being added, at last.)