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there’s thunder there’s lightning. We became a
little nervous and turned our buggy back toward
the ranch.
Driving back was easier. It’s surprising how we
were able to navigate the hill sides, ruts and
uneven ground after just a little experience, and
encouragement from the gods of thunder and
lightning.
When we got to the barbed wire gate we stopped
and I dismounted to unhook it. No problem, I’d
watched Russell shove the posts together and lift
the wire. I tried the same thing. The posts didn’t
budge. Okay so Russell was about 10 times
stronger than I was. But, what about all the
football I’ve watched. That ought to be worth
something. Like a monster lineman I leaned into
the post. Nothing. Then the thunder got closer,
the rain was cold and huge drops fell on us.
These things could become quarter size, hail.
More inspiration. I shoved again, and with
Arlene’s help she slipped the wire off the other
post. We were in. Repeating the football block
we reset the gate and doubled our speed back to
the ranch.
Dinner was great, Elk steak is okay, we enjoyed
it. Russell and Mouse both thought that our
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escapade was really funny. It might have been
for them, because they do it often. For us it was
a dream and we were so happy that we could do
it. What a swell opportunity for us.
The next morning Russell gave us directions to
Gunnison around the back roads.
So Long, Russell, we had a great time.
It was a grand drive. We stopped several times
along the way. From the high plains of the San
Juan Mountains we dropped down onto this
narrow valley onto the flat where the river
couldn’t decide which way to go.
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We were now approaching Gunnison.
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Dinosaur National Monument:
We’ve stopped for the night in Vernal, Utah at
the Fossil Valley RV Park. It’s pretty near the
border of Colorado, Wyoming, and Utah, in the
northwest corner of the state. We’ve come here
to see the dinosaur bones in the Dinosaur
National Monument. It straddles the two states.
We’ve a thing for dinosaurs from childhood.
Arlene grew up near New Haven and the
marvelous Dinosaur Museum at Yale University.
Me, in Washington DC near the National History
Museum at the Smithsonian. Both museums
have collected many grand specimens from the
west.
As we travel across the country we stop at many
dinosaur museums. The National Monument
has been a place we’ve wanted to visit for years.
But, it’s always been closed.
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One major area, on the mountain side has many
bones revealed. However, that area is unstable
and for some time they’ve tried to keep it from
sliding down, losing the relics.
We drove out to the Monument. From a hill-top
above the Green River we could see the
campground below along the river. It looked
uninviting in the desert heat. They didn’t have
electricity. That’s why we stayed in Vernal.
The Green River begins in Wyoming, and crosses
into this northern edge of Colorado. It isn’t one
of the major contributors to the wild rivers that
originate in the State. It will eventually merge
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with the mighty Colorado River in southern
Utah.
On the opposite side of the river was a shear
granite wall. The river hugged it’s side and at a
massive cut, it swerved and turned a corner out
of sight. The cut in the granite was a clear fault.
Near the fault we walked along the river. It was
gray clay, and shallow because of the season, with
a wide sandy shore line. The water was cool. We
ran around splashing through it and ourselves. It
was a great break for us.
The several times we’ve been around this area the
Monument has been closed. Again, it was closed.
Maybe, we’ll never see these bones. Wouldn’t it
be neat to see something like this; from Wind
River, Wyoming.
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The Monument is famous for this guy, Sinclair’s
‘Dino’. His bones found here, DINO 16488, are
the universal standard for long neck, long tail
sauropods like the Allosaurus.
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Unfortunately, we ended up with something
more like this from Tucumcari, New Mexico.
An afternoon playing along the river was fun.
We drove back to Vernal and visited the Utah
Field House of Natural Resources. We had
hoped for a little more.
We’ll head south for Grand Junction, Colorado
tomorrow on route 139 along the Colorado State
line.
Douglas Pass:
We’re no strangers to long drives without gas or
mechanical services. The Al-Can Highway,
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In Alaska, crossing the Great Basin Desert, in
Nevada, or driving to Las Vegas from California,
Death Valley, and of course the Big Bend in
Texas.
Route 139 shouldn’t have been on that list, but
for miles it had no services as it passed through
the desert, the small town of Rangly, and the
Douglas Pass to Loma.
We always have our eyes open for gas. If we
could remember we could probably tell you
where every gas station across the country is, on
every ‘blue road’. Yes, we are obsessed by it.
Not only are our tanks kept full but we carry a
siphon hose for good measure.
So this wasn’t a problem driving these 70 miles
across the desert and over the Douglas Pass.
Even though it was unexpected.
The road was according to Colorado’s
Department of Highways improved. That usually
means it needs help, and maintenance. That was
true, we crossed many washouts, crumbling edges
that often dropped off into deep and endless
canyons and valleys.
The high desert with it’s long views over the
countryside, has long rolling hills covered with
sage brush and the advancing rain storms with
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their dark clouds and spotty downpours all left us
behind as we approached the pass.
The valleys we drove through had more and
more pines and junipers. Cattle grazed in the
fields. As we began to climb, the mountains were
filled with trees.
The grade wasn’t as steep as the Teton Pass,
10%, but the old road had lots of switch backs.
From the beginning we didn’t seem to have any
nd
power. I down shifted into 2 and we still
moved along around 25 mph at 3800 rpm’s. My
strategy had changed over the years to shifting
instead of waiting for the engine to automatically
drop down.
It didn’t make any difference as we continued to
poke along into a switch back, up a steep grade
into another switch back. Maybe the octane
rating of 85, which was lower than the usual
eastern rate, had something to do with our
power. It’s just strange, but the engine isn’t
straining and there isn’t any pinging. Maybe
the next time we go over a Continental Divide
we’ll put a higher grade in the tank.
Fortunately there was no traffic, as the road had
two lanes. Passing us would have been
impossible.
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At the top we could see for miles, down the
southern valley, even the La Sal Mountains,
where Moab snuggled, some 100 miles away. It
was grand.
We started down. It was the same routine,
switch back, down grade, switch back. I shifted
nd
into 2 and braked to keep us under 40mph.
Arlene was pleased to be on the inside of the
mountain. On the way up she had the best view,
which she seldom likes. There is a good side to
her looking out across the abyss. She becomes
more attentive to me, sliding away from the
window.
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We passed several canyons and a few ranch
houses, but mostly this area, all the way from
Vernal to Loma is uninhabited.
It’s over 30 miles from the top of the pass to
Loma and it’s all downhill. That may be the
longest downhill drive we’ve ever made. It’s
twice as long as the California hills we’ve climbed
from San Diego to Las Vegas.
This was quite a trip. It caused me to wonder
how my Aunt Augusta and Uncle Rex Cramer,
were able to cross the country in 1918. The
roads beyond St. Louis were seldom paved.
Often not paved until the 1970’s and 80’s.
Across Nebraska, the Dakotas, and Montana
we’ve covered miles of them, yet seen even more.
In Idaho we were able to ride a dirt road, which
had been used for generations by another cousin,
Ann Cortez, to her country ranch. Even today
there may still be more dirt than paved roads
across the northern states.
They unlike the pioneers drove a southern route,
because it was summer. Often the pioneers
crossed the country in late summer and fall.
Some roads left deep ruts, from the buildup of
dust. Something like our driving in the Great
Sand Dunes, only their carriages were much
higher than ours.
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We passed through Loma and Fruita to the
James M. Robb State Park.
Stopping only once to get gas and buy some
peaches. The vendor at the gas station cut two
large slices one for each of us. He recognized we
were from Georgia, the Peach State, and made a
big deal out of it. ‘These are Palisade Peaches
they are juicier, and more flavorful than any
you’ve ever eaten’. Oh sure, we replied and are
they pithy? ‘Of course not.’ Here try this, and he
cut another slice. Man! Were these peaches
good. We bought a half dozen and gorged on
them before reaching the campground.
Not all campgrounds are worth talking about. I’ll
save our vehemence for Ridgeway State Park;
another over priced Colorado Park.
Colorado National Monument:
Just outside of Grand Junction, near the Utah bo
rder is the Colorado National Monument. It was
created in 1911, with the help of John Otto, from
Grand Junction. Over the years there have been
several attempts to make it a National Park, the
last in 2104. So far none have passed.
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We drove through the gate and up several
thousand feet above the Colorado River floor.
The bright red sandstone cliffs were something
to see if you looked. I did, sort of, but only
glancing as I was driving.
Arlene on the other hand didn’t see anything.
She was not looking as this was a really
dangerous situation. It looked like this to her.
Red cliff on his side and straight up. No fence or
guard rail on her side. Straight down so far that
she couldn’t bare to look. And, of course she
didn’t.
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Below us lay Grand Junction, Fruita and Loma,
The River, and miles of desert, and thousands of
residential homes. Would any reasonable person
want to look at that? Maybe not.
We stopped at the Visitors Center in time to
watch a really good Geological flick by the
University of Colorado. Over the years we have
repeated this information to many, including
writing about it.
During the ages the Colorado Plateau has risen
and lowered. The flick showed how the oceans
rose, and then the land rose above it. Then
subsiding and creating the ocean again, until the
land rose again. They estimated this process
continued over 25 times during the centuries. So
we were told not to hold our breath as it may
soon become ocean again.
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We were also there in time for a rim hike with a
Ranger, interpreter and narrator. She was very
good and interesting. Often, Ranger lectures are
directed at the 7 – 8 year old camper families and
are not too interesting.
For instance, did anyone know that the bug on
the prickly pear that looks like a mole is a really
good red dye? Yet, it is and if you find it, just
give it a little squeeze and your fingers will turn
bright red. Red for weeks. Why, that’s just like
the black walnuts my father used to hull. His
hands stayed black for over a month.
Or, look at that moss around the Pinion Tree.
It’s black now, but watch what happens when it
gets wet. She poured some water on it and
SHAZAM! it turned green. She was pretty neat,
huh. In a parting word she asked us to be careful
not to kick it as it would take years to grow back.
That’s a little something we’d learned in the
Arctic. Plants in stressful environments take
years to develop. So we should be careful,
leaving mostly footsteps.
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The trail started at the rim by the Visitors Center,
at an overlook. Below, us so far that it was hard
to make out the Rocky Mountain Long Horn
Sheep grazing near a creek bed. Maybe two
thousand feet down. We had left our binoculars
in the car, so I used a camera with 40X optical to
search them out. I couldn’t see any wrap around
horns so believed it was a herd of females.
We moved on along the trail and for once Arlene
and I both agreed on how steep the cliff was near
us. We preferred to stand back. Obviously, who
ever built the trail had us in mind. It stayed 20
feet or further away from the edge. That made
us feel comfortable.
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Off to the south the canyon opened up in to a
series of canyons. There were a number of red
rock spires in front of the Canyons. They rose
from the canyon floor, some above us.
They all had been given names. Some more
obvious than others.
The Kissing Tower was self evident. Two towers
intertwined looked like a pair of humans
embracing.
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Independence Rock was a puzzle. The story and
man behind the National Monument movement
in 1911, John Otto had wanted to make a
statement. He wanted to celebrate the next two
states into the union with a flag from the top of
th
this rock with48 stars. However, it wasn’t the 4
and he wasn’t given a 48 star flag. Undeterred he
sewed a couple of new stars on to the 46 star flag.
Climbed the rock spire and set it flying.
Independence Rock has kept the name ever
since. To celebrate the 4 of July every year
th
climbers set the flag on top of the rock to fly for
7 days, a week.
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Back down the narrow road where they forgot to
put any barriers we went on to the land lubbers
flats, and a gas station.
Here we met with a couple of Kentuckians, in a
13 foot Scamp. Our trailer, the Casita and the
Scamp are made by brothers. They didn’t see eye
to eye so separated and each built their own
trailer company.
It’s hard to say, but 13 feet is a little small for our
taste. It’s like the first Casita we ever saw. We
were asked if we’d like the long or short tour.
We chose the long tour. That took 3 minutes.
We have stretched our 17 foot tours into 5 or
even more minutes.
Tom and Carol had rebuilt the trailer after 13
years to include a microwave, air conditioning,
and a hot water heater. It looked nice, and they
took good care of it.
There were a few things we noticed. The door
was curved to fit along the bottom, like a
Canadian trailer of the same size called a Boler.
Also, the fiberglass didn’t run all the way under
the body. Ours does, and we think that a really
important part of our trailer.
We had a really good time with them talking
about everything under the blazing sun; children,
grand children, our health, and U.S. 50 across
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Nevada past Elko where they have annual
Cowboy Poetry gathering.
We ended our talk and they headed off down the
Colorado River toward Arches and the
Canyonlands National Parks. We added a little
more propane to our tanks filled up on gas and
set off for The Black Canyon National Park.
Ridgeway State Park:
If we were going to stay in the Hamilton Motel
for a night it would cost us about $50.00. That
would include the use of the internet, TV, and a
breakfast. The breakfast might be eggs over
hard, bacon, toast, juice and coffee.
Now, prices in the east might have gone up since
we arrived at Ridgeway State Park, and probably
not at the Colorado State Parks. That’s because
the politician’s couldn’t move that fast.
So for a little less than a comfortable Hamilton
Motel room for the night we got to take our
$16,000 trailer, $35,000 van, 2 kayaks and
equipment $1,500 and additional odds and ends
worth another $6,000 to the State Park. Each of
these items we well use, unlike at the motel.
The rule is an easy one. If you live within 50
miles of the park, and a resident the price is less.
If you come from out of state they would like
you to stay several nights. No bums or
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vagabonds are welcome. Or out of state
residents, unless you pay the extra prices.
Here’s how it goes:
Over night camp site = $24.00
Reservation fee = 8.00
Daily Park entrance fee = 8.00
Total for one night = $40.00
Total for 3 nights = $120.00
IT’S OUTRAGEOUS!
From the moment we set foot in Colorado, at
Lathrop State Park we have been dead set against
paying these terrible tariff. Other states, like
Texas, do the same thing and we feel exactly the
same about them.
We have sworn never to go to one of those states
parks. Never! Ever!. Some how this one slipped
through the cracks. We hope it will never
happen again.
Inside the Park we had one of the 600 camp sites.
Everyone was full, and every other site had a
pickup, and an empty boat trailer. The boat was
in the lake. Across from us was another Casita.
It’s possible to say that everyone was busy having
a good time in the 3 days they were here. Friday
afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday morning. Before
they packed up and drove the 25 miles home.
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st
Weekend after weekend from June 21 to the
start of school. It’s a ritual.
We sat around camp wondering why we had
done this to ourselves. Late Saturday afternoon
we wandered down to the creek that fed the lake
to listen to a volunteer, lecture about fishing in
creeks. There were only 10 of us.
We were relaxing despite my ridicule of the
politicians and their rip off pricing. Sunday we
went into the hills hiking. Most everyone else
was either on their boat, at the beach or at their
camp site. Children are free ranged. They can
and do anything they want. It’s the weekend
getaway, remember. Time to relax and enjoy life
without those pesky responsibilities of things like
children.
Black Canyon National Park:
Not far from Montrose was the turn off for the
Black Canyon. We had been driving in a valley
and almost missed the sign. The National Park is
5,000 feet above the valley. It was quite a climb
for us up, up and up until we were at 8,000 feet
and in a forest of small oak trees.
Bill Clinton had approved the Black Canyon of
the Gunnison to a National Park status in
October of 1999.
We had reservations and drove through the gate
with our Golden Eagle Pass to loop B and our
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site #7. It was a small drive through site, with a
bee hive nearby. We settled in and listened to
their hummmm, but were never bothered by
them.
We had been told that the Park was a nice place
to visit, but only for a few days. We had signed
up for five. It turned out that our imagination
and creativity carried us through an enjoyable
stay.
The Park being new fell to the bottom of the
National Park Maintenance list. It was not well
prepared for visitors. Just like the Great Basin
National Park in Nevada. There’s no money to
fix them up.
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We thankfully had electricity, but nothing else.
Water was trucked in daily, the toilets were the
worst pits. And although they had trails none of
them were maintained. We were gracious and
gave it a rating of 1 ½.
Mostly, visitors came to make the drive along the
rim stopping frequently to look at the amazing
granite canyon below them.
It’s easy to see how steep the canyon is. In this
picture one side is sloping toward the river.
That’s because the sun doesn’t reach it. Allowing
the snow and ice to work longer on the rocks
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melting them, which in turn breaks them down
into soil.
Many views of the canyon were much steeper
and narrower. They didn’t have any slope to
them at all. In those areas the river seemed to be
only a few feet wide. It was said that the granite
rock is so hard that the river carries away less
than a ¼ inch each year.
Like many tourists we traveled along the rim
stopping at every view point. It made us dizzy to
look down into the canyon at this stop.
We asked the Ranger what trails were open.
Were there any leading down the cliffs to the
bottom of the canyon like at the Grand Canyon?
He laughed. ‘No, our trails aren’t like the ones at
the Grand Canyon. We have several, but they
haven’t been maintained. If you wanted to take
one, we’d like to know, and you should take
ropes to help your down some of the steeper
parts.
Okay. We didn’t misunderstand what he was
saying. Translation; NO HIKING. It’s worth it
to note that many of the stops along the rim had
short gravel and sand paths out to the overlook.
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Here are two, one with railings, one without.
The latter was really scary. Actually so was the
one with railings. 2,000 feet straight down tugs
on you when your so close to the edge.
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There are multiple stories about how the Black
Canyon got it’s name.
Rangers say the canyon walls are so narrow and
steep that sun light only penetrates 33% down
the cliffs. That story is pretty good and it makes
the canyon as dark as black pepper.
Another, from the Geologists believes the granite
cliffs are so dark, even black, that they think
that’s where the name originated.
We have observed these canyon walls from the
early morning to sunset. They are black alright,
but they also have white streaks in them. They
also like the blinded missionary who named the
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Sangre De Cristo Mountains have a pink color to
them. Really, no kidding, and it’s not a reflection
of the sunset off the snow.
In the late 1880’s they tried to build a railroad
through the canyon. They must have changed
their mind as all the blasting never got them very
far. It wasn’t until much later that a couple of
crazy guys passed through and survived on air
mattresses. They called them explorers, but give
me a break.
We had settled into our camp and after a day of
rubber necking along the rim, had decided to do
our chores. Our rig was filled with dust. And as
much as we tried to sweep and brush it away it
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never disappeared. We needed to wash and
scrub every inch. That took most of the day.
In the afternoon a new rig, a ‘Mini Winie’ showed
up in camp nearby. We got to talking and hit it
off right away. Bill and Janet, he was a retired
Colonel and she a Nurse Practioner. We talked
until dinner, and then collected some ears of corn
and a few other things to share with them. They
had wine and we drank late into the night.
When we finally left their RV it was cold. So
cold it was snowing. SNOWING, BURRR. We
danced and sang all the way back to our rig. It
was swell and we laughed as we crawled into bed
under a pile of blankets.
We woke early the next morning, with a slight
headache. It was necessary to turn on our disk
heater to warm everything up before getting out
of bed. I made coffee, and suggested we have a
nice Buck Wheat Pancake breakfast. Arlene was
all for it.
The closest Buck Wheat Pancake we knew was
just down the road a bit, 175 miles to Moab,
Utah.
If we left now we figured we’d be there before
noon. All aboard. We set out by 8:00 am down
the mountain through Grand Junction and down
the marvelous Colorado ‘River Road’ into Moab.
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Breakfast Excursion:
The Moab Dinner is one of our favorite places in
Utah. Breakfast all day long. Most everyone
orders their famous green chili. Our ancestors
from Pennsylvania have eaten Buck Wheat all our
lives. That’s what we were there for and that’s
what we got.
We each ordered a country size breakfast.
Buck Wheat Pancakes
Two eggs over hard
Crisp, Bacon
Several cups of coffee.
Oh! My! How good it was.
Revived, and recovered from the night before we
bought two Moab Diner baseball caps. Made
several phone calls to our friends back in Florida,
and sent a few post cards.
We probably didn’t mention that we weren’t
alone on this break away. No, we weren’t.
‘Barrack’s came along. He may be the most
decorated bear in the Universe. If not he would
certainly claim to be the most expensive with a
couple of hundred pins sewed all over his
Vermont State Police private’s coat. Why he has
so many pins from all over America that it’s
difficult to see his coat.
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Here he is back at home, resting. No wonder as
he weighs a ton.
We struggled back to camp that afternoon. It
was a really long day. But worth it. The weather
back in camp had mellowed a bit, up to the high
40’s. Although we had a little snow on the
ground when we left none had made it into the
valley.
Uncompahgre National Forest:
It was nice driving through the big city, Grand
Junction. We were use to single lane main streets
and a few off roads. We stopped at Sam’s Club,
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did a little shopping and bought gas. The
downtown area was several blocks long with a
divided street.
In between were lovely flowers some so tall you
couldn’t see the other side of the street. At every
corner baskets overflowed with more flowers.
It was so inviting and cheerful.
After being in camp for 4 days we decided we
needed to go back to Grand Junction. We were
encouraged that it wasn’t as far as Moab. There
was a fellow in camp that told us he never took
the main roads. That being US 50. He took the
back roads. So we thought it would be another
nice excursion.
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It turned out that the back road was a huge semi-
circle from Montrose to Grand Junction. Only it
wasn’t a short cut. It was 160 miles longer,
through the Uncompahgre Forest. On the map
part of the drive was across improved dirt, the
other 2/3 was blue lined, and dotted as in scenic.
Well we had a couple more days here at the Black
Canyon and we’d seen just about everything. It
was time to give up our third trip around the rim.
Back roads are usually dirt, often plowed. If they
were on the map then probably they would be
okay. Even so we thought we’d go down to
Ridgeway on a paved road then over to Naturita.
Only who wanted to go back to Ridgeway.
Instead Route 90 looked okay and it was a short
cut through the forest from Montrose to
Naturita.
We stopped at the BLM office and asked about
the short cut. They didn’t think of it as a short
cut, but rather the only way to get there. They
have 4 wheel drive pickups with high clearance.
We don’t. Our clearance is about 5 inches. If
the road had ruts from recent bad weather, we
could be in trouble.
Okay, with their assurance, we discounted the
fact that the map showed the same kind of road
across the Bandlier Forest in New Mexico. We
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took directions to the road and applied the same
security as we did previously. Fill the tank and
keep track of the mileage.
The road was great, and we moved along
climbing higher into the mountains. Once we
got up enough the Sage, Pinions and Cedar
became thicker until it really became a forest. A
good sign was the ground didn’t have much
underbrush. That prevent and protects against
forest fires.
A little higher and we reached tall pines and
groves of Aspen. It was beautiful, the white bark
on these trees stood out. They were 2 and 3 feet
in diameter, larger than any we’d seen before.
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There were open fields and ponds that reflected
the clear blue of the sky. At one, a fellow had
three Labradors splashing in the water. We
stopped to watch, as he seemed to be training
them.
The meadow around the pond was filled with
wild yellow flowers. It was so beautiful, with the
dark pines and white aspen.
A little further along we came to a fork in the
road. The good road kept straight, but the one
where the pathic, warn out sign pointed to the
deteriorated ‘logger’ road; this way to Naturita.
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Oh! My! Check out the ruts on this one. There
were large rocks, surly a 10 mph top speed. The
worst part was the logging debris. Bark, and tree
limbs scattered all along the road.
The colors continued to be stunning. There were
some fences that reminded us of the kind we’d
seen along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia.
Those loust rails chris-crossing in a woven
pattern.
We were dropping quickly from the 9,100 foot
Aspen forest . This was our last view of the high
mountains.
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Closing in on Naturita we were held up by this
herd of cattle. Open range in the forest surprised
us. Isn’t that black one questioning us on her
road?
We made it to Grand Junction, did a little
shopping and headed back to camp.
Outside town we took US 50 east toward Delta.
Along the way we stopped at a Sinclair gas
station. Sinclair had long since removed it’s gas
stations from the east coast, and with them it’s
mascot and symbol, Dino. I had been searching
for a Dino the Dinosaur hat for a long time,
stopping at gas station after gas station. We had
even stopped at a Sinclair refinery. Usually, we’d
be told there were none to be sold. Once, at the
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refinery, they said only employees would have
those hats.
Years later, Dan, came across this hat in Las
Vegas. Knowing how I had searched he bought
not one but two and sent them to me. This is
not an ordinary baseball hat. It’s Sinclair’s latest
racing team hat. Very special.
Further along, outside of Delta we saw this old,
General Motors, 1976 GMC, RV in a field
beside the road.
It had classic rounded and soft design lines, we
stopped for a look. If only Arlene’s Dad was still
alive. We could have hitched it up and driven
home with it. Ivan, owned a garage, and he
surely could have fixed it into working order.
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Unfortunately, we don’t have those skills so we
just enjoyed looking it over. Too bad it needed a
lot of work, but was a dandy.
It was not long before we drove through
Montrose, a smaller town, but with the same
enthusiasm for loads of flowers on their streets.
We think the Chamber of Commerce volunteers
keep these towns looking so good.
Gunnison Canyon Boat Tour:
We slept well and the next day we learned about
a boat trip into the canyon. It didn’t take us long
to sign up and thanks to our good luck we could
go on the afternoon tour.
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To get to the boat dock along the Gunnison we
had to go back down the Mountain and head
towards the town of Gunnison. Not too far
away we pulled off on a patchy gravel road that
ended in a parking lot. The Gunnison River was
below us, some 300 steps down. We wondered if
we’d be able to get back up later.
The river was at the bottom, and much wider
than what we could see from our camp. We
walked along the path, of the old railroad line.
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A mile or so along we came to the boat dock.
Being early we kept walking further down the
canyon while waiting for the boat. You can see
the path alongside the river.
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We all put on life preservers and climbed aboard
the 42 foot flat deck pontoon boat when it
arrived. It was driven by two 140 horse Mercury
outboards. Besides ourselves there was a large
family, four generations celebrating their annual
reunion. In a short time we were on our way.
There were two Rangers a Captain and a narrator.
We ran down the river, which became rather
narrow, less than 200 feet wide. On the northern
side the cliffs rose steeply about 2,000 feet. We
were told the water at the dock was about 50 feet
deep. Seven miles later when we turned around
it was over 600 feet deep.
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Along the way, water falls fell some 200 feet or
more.
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When we were on top we were amazed at how
deep the canyon was, and how steep and rugged
it’s walls. We seldom have a chance to see such
awesome scenery from both the top and bottom.
This trip was something special. Maybe, because
it was so narrow. Going down the Colorado in
Canyonlands was really neat but, much more
open.
This was some trip and we were energized by it.
Climbing the steps to the van we stopped and
rested only three times.
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CHAPTER 6
GUNNISON:
Our Town:
There are a lot of ways to get to our favorite
place in Colorado. We’ve been here so many
times and stayed a week or so. That’s record
territory for us as more than three nights is
unusual. From Russell’s we crossed the back
roads. A beautiful drive. Just before we arrived
in Gunnison, these cattle rustlers drove out of
the forest onto the highway.
When we were leaving Creede, and Silver Thread
Highway we drove up along the ridge to a
remote, rough dirt road that led down to the
Gunnison River.
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This road was seldom used, two wheel ruts with a
rise in the middle. We hoped that we could clear
it and not scrape our bottom, because there was
no turning around. We made it down, to a
wonderful small campground with 5 sites along
the Cebola Creek.
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