T's Travels

Colorado, Day 3: A lost railroad found

We checked out of the hotel and headed west on 285. Our goal was Gunnison by nightfall but otherwise we had no plans beyond following the dotted (scenic) line on the map. Route 149 ran right through Creede and so did we—it just felt too early to stop. Passed through some great views (I’ll let the photos speak for themselves):

At Mount Baldy Cinco we stopped to look a little while.

At the bottom of the mountain was Lake City, clearly a very popular summer vacation spot and the headwaters of the Lake Fork of the Gunnison River. It looks like a place I’d enjoy staying for a few days . . .

It was getting near lunchtime and so we started to look for a good picnic spot. Shade was essential, seating by the water would be a bonus. Just as we rounded one curve on 149 I saw a little sign that said “Campground,” so we turned in. Drove down a gravel road, past a number of tents next to the Lake Fork. Further on, at a stop sign was another sign, pretty much warning us not to go any further if we had trailers, were nervous about landslides, or basically didn’t know how to drive. To my husband “Not safe to drive here” means “Welcome!” So of course we kept driving.

But it didn’t seem treacherous. There were plenty of pullover places if a car was coming in the other direction. The Lake Fork was on our left and the mountain on our right kept getting steeper and rockier. Some of the rocks seemed to have been cut, which we thought was odd. Finally we found a group of trees on the riverbank, some large rocks perfect for picnicking. Watched the water flow, wondered if people whitewater around there. Even though there were people here and there along the way, I felt we were really in our own little world. That’s one of the nice things about picnicking.

After lunch we continued driving because Husb. The canyon (it was now a canyon) became narrower and we noticed historical markers on the mountainside (I told you Colorado is good about labeling things). Turns out the road we were driving on was formerly the railroad bed for the Lake Fork Spur of the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad between Sapinero and Lake City. A number of markers tell the story of the railroad. We walked a small trail that led us past the rocky foundations of housing used by railroad management during the building of the railroad; they didn’t look like all that much but they beat where the workers slept—they often huddled under trees at night, not having structures in which to sleep, even through the winter. The existence of the railroad explains why some of the rocks looked hand-cut; they were!

Eventually the driving stops in a parking lot. We walked beyond that just to see how far the trail goes. The water slowed down and then nearly stopped, full of tree debris. We couldn’t see much farther but the last 20 miles of the 35-mile railroad bed are now underwater. When I came home and looked it up, I found out this is called the “Lake Fork Spur Scenic Drive.” It’s the scenic drive equivalent of a small museum—you may think it’s not much from the outside but once you do it, you will be so glad you did.

If you do this drive, and you come back out to the stop sign, and you see a sign that says “Route 50 15 miles” if you turn right, and you think, “Oh, I want Route 50, I’ll take this,” think about this first. It’s 15 miles on top of the mesa. That may be what you want, but then again . . . it goes on and on. At the end we found ourselves on the west side of the Curecanti National Recreation Area, with Gunnison (still our destination) to the east. A little highway driving, witnessing a dump truck lay a lot of rubber to avoid hitting a line of cars stopped for construction (the car at the end of the line actually moved because the driver thought he might get hit, which was a smart move—the same truck had passed us doing at least 80 mph), and coming into Gunnison.

As we drove down the main street of Gunnison we saw a sign on a roadside stand: HATCH CHILES. Yes indeed it was chile season. People in Colorado (at least the section we were in) set up stands and roast chiles by the side of the road. Husb had brought me a large bag a few years before from a trip west (yes, I know, some wives get nice jewelry when their husbands travel, but I couldn’t have been happier to get the chiles). We were hoping to score again on this trip. In Alamosa we saw a TAKING ORDERS FOR POBLANOS sign but we weren’t going to be in town when they roasted. So we stopped at the sign in Gunnison and told the woman we’d be back the next afternoon for a half-bushel of roasted hatch chiles.

Then we went in search of a hotel room. Trip Advisor #1 was the Inn at Tomichi Village, an independent establishment just outside town. Clean, quiet, reasonably priced. Done. And we had no regrets. Dinner at the High Alpine Brewing Company—very creative pizzas and nice brews. We wandered around town a little, looking at the artsy little shops and restaurants. Gunnison is a nice place to find yourself (not as in “find yourself,” but as in “hey, I’m in Gunnison, Colorado! Nice little town!”).

We slept that night dreaming of chiles and mountains. One more day to go . . .

Next . . . once again off the track . . .

Colorado, Day 2: Walkin' in the sand . . .

The next morning—the big one! I strapped on my hiking boots and we arrived at the dunes at 9:30 ready to go. To get to the dunes everyone must cross Medano (pronounced MED-a-no) Creek. During June and July the creek runs at full capacity and people play in the water and the sand just like they’re at Wildwood, New Jersey! But in late August the creek runs at little more than a trickle so we could cross it without getting more than the bottom of our boots wet.

First dune, easy—up and down. Second dune, not so easy—up and where can I go that’s not down? Third dune, how to cross it—stick to the ridge? Walk on the slope? Whoa, is that too steep? Hiking the dunes takes thought and consideration in where to step and what direction to go. We were lucky in that it had rained the night before and so more sand was firm than the day before. We also had no wind so there was no blowing sand.

I probably made it halfway before I said, “Good enough! Yay me!” Husb went all the way, as I knew he would. Until he was nearly at the top we could still hear each other and once he got to the top I could still tell it was him and could see him wave at me.

Coming down the dunes is much more fun (a little dip, a little slide) and faster. In no time at all I was back in the parking lot to retrieve my sneakers (still drying out from Zapata Falls) from the roof of our car. As I waited for Husb I watched families head toward the dunes, carrying little sleds (they say you can sled down the dunes but I never saw that in action). Hiking boots was a good choice in footwear for climbing; I can’t imagine trying it in sandals.

After such a triumph we decided to go to the Sand Pit picnic area to have our lunch. Looked like an easy hike, 1.5-mile total. But the trail was full sun and soft sand. I felt like I was at the beach except there would be no ocean at the end to reward me for the effort. When we reached the picnic area we saw it was also in full sun. Eventually we found shade under a tree and had our lunch, then took the road back to our car, passing the (unmapped) very pretty Ponderosa Pine picnic area looking so cool under the trees.

By the time we reached the car we could see storm clouds in the distance, so a scenic drive sounded good. The Los Caminos Antiguos Scenic Byway runs in a square from Alamosa east to Fort Garland, south to San Luis, and west to Romeo, where you can go north (back to Alamosa to complete the square) or south to Antonito. Mount Blanca, one of Colorado’s 53 fourteeners (I learned what that means on this trip) rises in the northeast corner of that square, a solid, anchoring landmark.

We watched the vegetation change subtly as we drove, shades of green and gray and brown. At San Luis there is a Stations of the Cross monument, with a walkway up the hill and a crucifix on top. As the rain came, we approached Manassa and one of my trip’s highlights—the birthplace of boxer Jack Dempsey, considered one of the greatest heavyweight fighters ever to step in the ring. I was so excited that when Husb stopped the car I ran across the road in the rain and never took a picture of the actual building (the one here is from someone else).

Inside, the walls are covered in Dempsey memorabilia. In the midst of it all I met Michelle Richardson, who has been tending the Dempsey homestead for 18 years and was very happy to tell me the story of the Dempsey family’s struggles and how Jack became the breadwinner through his success in the ring. My regular readers know no trip to anywhere is complete without a visit to a small museum. Jack Dempsey’s Birthplace was just what I needed!

Our final stop of the day was back in Alamosa at the visitors’ center. We weren’t sure whether to stay longer in the area or move on. The man I spoke with was quite helpful and recommended a drive to the west, up to the town of Creede and beyond. We had heard that from a friend as well, so that’s what we decided to do. Back at the hotel we told the woman at the front desk that we’d be checking out in the morning. This is the difference between booking with an independent and a chain hotel; we could change our reservation with little notice. I still completely support staying at independent places (which, as you will see, we did for the rest of the trip) but for this part, the chain hotel was perfect.

The end to this perfect day: dinner at Calvillos, which according to more than one person we spoke to is the best Mexican restaurant in Alamosa (and there are a lot of Mexican restaurants in Alamosa!). Tamales for me, combo for Husb, green chile sauce all around, it was as good as any Mexican restaurant we have ever been to.

Next . . . a lost railroad . . .

Colorado, Day 1: Somewhat Rocky, somewhat high (but not "high")

Some people plan their vacations down to the minute—they create an itinerary, make reservations for every night, choose their restaurants in advance—and then don’t deviate from that plan. Other people are more freewheeling, maybe knowing their route in advance but not knowing where they’ll spend a night or even if they’ll stay on the road they thought they might take. Neither group is wrong in their approach.

I, my dear fellow travelers, fall somewhere in the middle. I will choose a destination, know (pretty much) how I am going to get there and what I might like to do, and definitely have a pretty good idea of where I’m spending the night. Activities are separated into “want to,” “have to,” and “if there’s time . . .” I just finished a vacation based on “have to (but want to),” a family wedding in Colorado. Because it was the end of the summer, I could convince Husb to take the entire week and we could vacay a little before the big event.

For our trip Husb had decided (his “want to”) we should go see the Great Sand Dunes in southeastern Colorado. I had never even heard of the place but what the heck. I made reservations for us in Alamosa, at a chain hotel (this will be important later). We started out in our rental car (a little “yow!” for the price of a 4WD car in Denver) heading south down 285 toward the vast San Luis Valley (which is about the size of Connecticut!).

Scanning the radio dial (because of course we listen to local radio when we travel) we found 97.5 “Hippie Radio.” And then we found the hippies. Colorado is very helpful in showing what is along the road, or off the road, with signs and arrows. We saw a sign for Crestone Brewing Company and so we turned left. Went past a marijuana place (my first!) and kept driving toward the mountain in front of us. It seemed like forever (especially when the police car, lights flashing, came up behind us, but then he passed us by). Finally we came to a tiny hamlet named Crestone. Brightly colored buildings, a few shops, a motel. A vibe that made me turn to Joe and say, “So this is where all the hippies went.” Turns out I was kinda right. For the uninitiated, Crestone is considered “the Shambala of the Rockies.”

Never did find that brewery but Alamosa was not much farther down the road. We checked into our hotel and went in search of dinner. San Luis Valley Brewing Company sounded good. Typical bar menu, typical local beers EXCEPT for Valle Caliente—a beer with a chile kick. I had to try it and loved it: a lighter beer with a warmth to it, went very nicely with my Portobello wrap. We chatted with our server (also bar manager), Evan Roberts, a bit and somehow got around to “where are you from?” Turns out he grew up about 30 minutes from where we live. Alamosa, Colorado, is a long way from central Pennsylvania.

After dinner we wandered through the downtown—despite the Walmart on the edge of town, there is a JC Penney’s on the main street, as well as a number of local businesses. Train tracks run right through town; we saw some very cool old train cars from the San Luis and Rio Grande Railroad.

The next day, unfortunately, I had to get some work done before we could go out on the dunes, so we didn’t get there until nearly noon. FYI to people who want to experience climbing the Great Sand Dunes, it is best not to start out just as the sun is getting hotter. While the sand is cool morning and evening, daytime can be blistering (150 degrees, they say).

So we did the visitor center, complete with video, and then decided to go to Zapata Falls, a much cooler experience. Three miles of rough road and a quarter-mile hike uphill. (If that sounds awful, go no further.) But it wasn’t awful and we were shortly looking at the creek. Falls, you say? They actually inhabit the cave upstream. To see the falls, you have to get your feet wet! I said brrr, no thank you. Husb walked as far as he could without getting wet and then, figuring he was so close, went all in. I watched him disappear into the cave. A few minutes later he came out and motioned me up. He said, “It’s worth it. Come on.” So I did. Yes, worth it!

Afterwards, in dry shoes, we stopped at the Oasis (little restaurant outside the park), where I had a chile burger. (I didn’t mention—it’s chile season in Colorado!)

After that we took another trail, nicely shaded and all uphill so Husb went on out ahead of me. I had some trouble adjusting to the altitude and just couldn’t keep up. We hydrated conscientiously the entire trip but there were times when I just couldn’t catch my breath. So we hiked up Mosca Pass separately, which gave me some nice time to rest and watch nature around me. No snakes, no wildlife beyond a squirrel or two, but what concerned me was the dark gray clouds sneaking into my sky.

By the time I heard the first crack of thunder, Husb was back by my side and we headed down the trail. Storms in that area, they say, can come up quickly. They can also be misleading in direction and intensity. We got a little rained on before we reached the car but nothing serious. The entire week was like that—storms came and went, some wetter than others, but nothing to ruin our plans.

Next . . . the Great Sand Dunes . . .