Rocky Mountains - homeward bound

Continuing our journey homeward, we made a point of travelling north at first, to avoid large metropolitan areas. We drove through Poudre Canyon on to Breckenridge. The scenery always breathtakingly lovely. We crossed the Continental Divide on this stage of the trip - the point at which streams on one side of the Divide flow to the Pacific, and on the other side, streams flow to the Atlantic..

Breckenridge appeared to be an over-manicured, over-priced, touristy type of town, which we decided should be avoided and continued on through Freemont Pass, to a height of over 11,000 feet, with more winding hairpin bends. We eventually dropped down into South Park and Fairplay to spend the night.

South Park proved to be more interesting than at first imagined. It had been the site of an old mining town. From what we could glean reading a potted history of the town, it had been "wild" as any part of the wild west.

While in South Fork and Fairplay Isabella Bird met up with an English "gentleman" who caused her to write as follows

"This gentleman was lording it in a true caricature of fashion, with a Lord Dundreary drawl and a general execration of everything; while I sat in the chimney corner, speculating on the reason why many of the upper class of my countrymen - "High Toners" as they are called out here - make themselves so ludicrously absurd. They neither know how to hold their tongues, or to carry their personal pretensions. An American is nationally assumptive, an Englishman personally so." (Tee-hee!!)

Parts of the town have been lovingly restored. A couple of old hotels remain in business and look much as they must have done 100 years ago. We had breakfast in one of these - The Fairplay Hotel. Breakfast was set out in English country house buffet style. The food, sadly, was not quite up to the standard which I suspect prevailed in an English Country House. Grits, congealed scrambled egg, biscuits and gravy would not have featured highly on the menu.

Next on our proposed itinerary was Canyon City - properly spelt Canon City, with an accent over the "n". We hoped to see the Royal Gorge and suspension bridge located there, and much advertised in tourist literature.

Before we had a chance to view the gorge, I spotted a turn-off to "Skyline Drive". I had read that this road was built by prisoners from local jails in 1903. It climbs 800 feet above the surrounding valley. A dinosaur trackway was discovered along its length in 1999. The guide book states "The trackway may be viewed by parking in the first pull-off then walking a short distance back down the road". Our reaction to this, when on-site, was "Huh????"

This drive was the single most frightening experience I have had since arriving in America. Had I realised how narrow was the single-lane roadway, and that nothing exists on either side of it for most of its length, I should never have suggested that we embark upon it. Having started, though, it was impossible to do anything but continue on to the end. A hell-bent motorcyclist was the only other occupane of the road that morning, he passed us at speed, almost tipping over the edge of the road. Speed limit was, I think, 10 miles an hour - he was driving at least 30 mph ! Fred remained admirably calm throughout - I squeezed a bunch of Kleenex in my perspiring palms and hardly dared say a word, nor did I look often at the vista spread out below. Dinosaur tracks held no temptation for us in these circumstances. Skyline Drive is but 2 and a half miles long, but seemed like 50 miles. Not recommended for the faint of heart !

After that escapade neither of us could face looking at Royal Gorge nor the suspension bridge. We decided to drive on a little way to Florence, a small town said to house many interesting antique stores.

We stayed the night in Florence, against advice from fellow shoppers who warned that "There's a prison nearby, there have been several escapees in the area around the motel recently, it would be wise to return to Canyon City for the night".We felt that any escaped prisoners were quite unlikely to approach the Super 8 Motel, and decided to book in. After all, we had survived Skyline Drive - what could go wrong?

That night was mercifully free of prison escapees. In the morning, 7 September,
we drove into Main Street to partake of breakfast at a well-recommended cafe "Main Street Grille". We both agreed that breakfast here was the best we'd had this trip. Beautiful linen tablecloths and napkins, nice crockery and silverware.
Varied menu, yet no pretentious service - just simple friendly helfulness. Fred ate huevos rancheros (his favourite). I had eggs over easy with a deliciously flavoured potato cake and large pieces of rustic style homemade bread. Our plates were imaginatively garnished with lettuce and grapes, sliced finely - an unexpectedly good combination with the breakfast food.

We'd reached the penultimate lap of our homeward journey now. Driving through Rocky Ford, La Junta, Las Animas and Lamar, to make our last overnight stop in Springfield. We had intended to visit Bent's Fort near La Junta, but on reading a notice close to the driveway which warned that West Nile Virus had been found in the area, around the Arkansas River, and seeing much stagnant water nearby, we decided that discretion is the better part of valour and drove on. Bent's Fort was originally conceived simply as a trading post for mountain trappers' beaver furs and Indians' buffalo robes, but soon became the point of supply, the social center, the place of refuge and safety, the rest and relaxation point for every white man and many Indians on the plains and in the mountains. It was almost a second home to many of the West's most famous mountain men, scouts, and Indian fighters, including the illustrious Kit Carson. The Fort has been reconstructed to its original form - we saw it only from a distance.

Springfield is one of the last towns in Colorado before crossing into the Oklahoma panhandle. There is little of note here. Three independently-run motels, a steak house and a large truck-stop cafe. We sampled both cafes - one for dinner one for breakfast. Truck-stop cafes are a special source of interest to me. The trucking fraternity is a group unto itself in the USA. I'm in awe of the driving skills of these individuals. Some of the trucks are gargantuan.
As Fred explained, these are not rough and tumble biker-types. They are often loners, serious personalities, hardworking and dedicated to their solitary way of life, and to the relative freedom it brings.

We arrived back home at around 7.30pm on Friday.

This trip has been a wonderful experience. Once over an initial short period of what Isabella Bird called "saroche or mountain sickness" we thoroughly enjoyed the clear crisp air and cooler temperatures in the mountains. Rocky Mountain scenery can surely not be surpassed anywhere on the planet.

A last quote from Isabella Bird:

"This is surely one of the most entrancing spots on earth. Oh, that I could paint with pen or brush! "(She can....listen to this) ......"I couldn't go on writing for the glory of the sunset, but went out and sat on a rock to see the deepening blue in the dark canyons, and the peaks becoming rose coloured one by one, then fading into sudden ghastliness, the awe inspiring heights of Long's Peak fading fast. Then came the glories of the afterglow, when the orange and lemon of the east faded into gray, and then gradually the gray for some distance above the horizon brightened into a cold blue, and above the blue into a broad band of rich, warm red, with an upper band of rose colour; above it hung a big cold moon. This is the daily miracle of evening........it has an intense fascination."

More photographs at : http://www.flickr.com/photos/49024304@N00/sets/72157594288461935/