December 1: Kayenta to Telluride. Starting mileage: 39,700.
We left from Kayenta, Arizona. Today, we’d stop to walk through four states (!) and then go on our way to Telluride, Colorado. After lunch at a diner in Dolores, our road wound up into the San Juan Mountains. Finally, we started to see trees again.
Entering the San Juan National Forest.Trees line the road through Taylor Mesa to Telluride, Colorado.The trees were a welcome sight in the San Juan National Forest and Mountains.Snow on Wilson Peak. Colorado.The road to Telluride.The magic misty cloud and sunbeams near Mountain Village, Colorado.
Peace in Telluride
I first came to Telluride in 1999, still mourning the recent loss of my grandmother. It was a work-related trip, and in between trying to learn to ski and spending time with colleagues, I found an incredible peace and comfort among those mountains. To this day, I return to Telluride for quiet, for contemplation, for solitude, for communion. Telluride is my version of heaven-on-earth.
The gondola looking back at The Peaks in Mountain Village, Telluride. In 1999, the area just had the Peaks (white building) and a few others. The gondola looking from San Sophia down to Telluride.Telluride from above. When I first visited, school buses used as trailer homes parked on the ridges around town. That is no longer. Big money has come to town, yet Telluride seems to maintain a bit of the scruffy, scrappy way of life.Tiny house next to a big house. Telluride.Standing on Main Street in early December. Where’s the snow? Telluride, Colorado.
The Dogs of Telluride
Sparky. His people have a place at The Peaks.
It’s fair to say that one reason I love Telluride so much is the gondola. It glides from Mountain Village, up and over San Sophia, and down into Telluride. Free, easy, convenient, and gorgeous. I could ride the gondola morning, noon, and night. Another reason I love Telluride, equally justified, is that there are so many dogs and dog-loving people. Combine these two, and you get Gondogola (you’re going to want to look that up)! Yes, dogs are allowed on the gondolas–Telluride is highly civilized after all. And oh my, there is no better ride than to share a gondola with a Telluride pup or two (or five). Once again, Telluride = Heaven.
This trip, we met Sparky, a red merle cattle dog/husky mix, who lives with his people at the Peaks. So handsome, and calm and delightful every time we saw him.
Dogs are welcome on Telluride’s gondolas. Yet another reason I love this place.Another doggy rides the Telluride gondola.
Pray for Snow
Ski Christmas Tree. Telluride, Colorado.
It was December, the opening weekend for skiers in fact. But snow had yet to reach Telluride’s slopes. It was causing anxiety. Everywhere we went, people talked about how this was the worst they’d seen in 30 years–a snow drought. Signs all over town said “Pray for Snow”. Machines ran night and day spraying ski runs with man-made powder.
It isn’t just skiers losing vacations when there is no snow. When the skiers don’t come, ski resorts, retail shops, and restaurants reduce hours and lay off employees. Working people lose their housing because they can’t work without snow. Every night, we watched the weather report with hope. Every morning, we checked the slopes for snow. And the entire time we were there, the snow-making machines ran, and ran, and ran.
“Pray for snow”. Telluride was not getting their usual snow this year. “Worst it’s been in 30 years,” people said. Machines chugged out snow powder for one run.Gondolas over aspens. Telluride, Colorado. Normally at this time of year, these hills would be white with a foot or more of snow.The Gondola as seen from Mountain Village, Telluride.We the People wall and lights. Telluride Colorado.Making snow. Wilson Peak in the background, and snow making machines on a foreground slope. As seen from the Gondola. Telluride.
Spa and Fireside
We spent a few glorious days in Telluride. During the days, we had spa treatments at The Peaks, sitting in the deserted kiva hot tub and sauna afterwards staring at the mountains. We rode the gondola–back and forth, sometimes just to ride. We petted every dog who smiled at us, stopped in most of the shops, and walked all around the back streets admiring the history and the architecture–especially the old, the tiny, and the colorful places. There were tasty, filling comfort food meals at Brown Dog Pizza, The Butcher and The Baker, and Altezza. We had coffee at Baked in Telluride and The Coffee Cowboy. And we sat for hours in front of the massive wood-burning fireplace in the lobby of the Peaks, reading, relaxing, and talking.
Our trip was soon coming to an end. This was our time to reflect, to relax, and to begin remembering all that we’d seen in our time on the road. As we took our final ride over the mountain the last night, I smiled at the moon and the lights of Telluride, nestled down there in its box canyon. I’ll be back again one of these days.
Wilson Peak as seen from the lobby of the Peaks the morning we drove out. Snow making machines blasting powder on the slopes. Mountain Village.Full moon over the lights of Telluride, as seen from the Gondola on our last night.
November 30: Mt. Carmel Junction, UT to Kayenta, AZ. Starting mileage: 39,425.
The day started with breakfast at our favorite diner, Golden Hills Restaurant. Then, we loaded up the car and headed southeast past the Vermillion Cliffs towards Kanab, Kayenta, Monument Valley, and Four Corners.
Best Friends Animal Society
If you are near Kanab, Utah, stop at Best Friends Animal Society. Best Friend’s mission is to end animal homelessness and stop the killing in U.S. shelters. More than 4,000 dogs and cats are euthanized EVERY DAY in shelters around the country and Best Friends is doing everything they can to achieve “No Kill by 2025”. In addition to collaborating with animal shelters to make that goal a reality, Best Friends houses more than 1,500 dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, horses, pigs, and other animals in their Kanab sanctuary. These animals may simply be between homes, or may have special needs that require longer–or permanent–stays. Twenty-two of the “Vicktory” dogs came here to heal after Michael Vick was convicted of animal abuse and dog fighting. Consider sponsoring an animal,or if you’re in the area–sign up to volunteer in the sanctuary or make a quick stop at the Visitor Center.
Into Arizona
We traveled back into Arizona over some of the roads we’d come in on, over Glen Canyon Dam and through Page before turning left onto 98. In the far distance, we could see white smoke rising and making clouds. This was the Navajo Generating Station, a power plant that serves electricity to the area. Shocking height and a powerful reminder of the impact humans have on the natural landscape.
Three flues vent steam from the Navajo Generating Station power plant near Lechee, AZ.
Monument Valley
We drove on, continuing down this 2-lane highway, a grey-brown road with veins of black tar spreading like stitches or electrical tape to hold it together. The land was red and orange, and flat. Sometimes, mesas stood tall on this pancaked land–like some giant hand had sat a big slab of butter down. We passed through Kaibito (elevation 6,687 ft), before turning left on 160 and another left on 163 in Kayenta.
This was THAT road. Now, this road has been forever burned in my mind from a cartoon. You know it too, right? But what a delight to see that view in real life! And yes, we looked for roadrunners, and coyotes with Acme suitcases. Nothing. Beep! Beep!
Nearing Monument Valley in Arizona.Monument Valley in Navajo Nation, AZ.Beep beep! That road in Monument Valley!
Kayenta
We checked in to the Hampton Inn around sundown. After getting situated, we went down to the restaurant and sat right in front of a lit fireplace for a delicious dinner. Mama Lucy visited the gift shop for ghost beads and we slept like babies that night in Navajo Nation.
December 1: Kayenta, AZ to Four Corners. Starting mileage: 39,700.
This land is unique in that it’s flat for miles, and then a formation becomes visible on the horizon. They are surprising, immense, sometimes awkward–sitting there keeping watch over the land and surely helping travelers navigate. Agathla Peak is one of those formations. A jutting rock, a natural watchtower, a regal mountain, it is sacred to the Navajos and can be seen from miles around.
Mama Lucy walking at a tribal park stand near Agathla Peak, Arizona.Agathla Peak, Arizona.
Another Photo Not Taken
We continued on 160, heading mostly east with a northerly tilt, through communities like Red Mesa Trading Post (and, yes, there is a red mesa), Dennehotso, and Mexican Water. We saw a long line of horses–brown ones, appaloosas, beige and black ones–slow walking almost single file along a narrow dirt trail, a red mesa behind them. I didn’t stop for that photograph, but I see it clearly still. I hope I’ll always have that image in my mind. Calm, fated and timeless, horse manes blowing in the wind.
The Red Mesa, near Red Mesa Trading Post, Arizona.
Four Corners
Mama Lucy standing in four states simultaneously. Four Corners, Navajo Nation.
Next, we headed for the famous Four Corners Monument–a place where you can stand in four states simultaneously…Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico. We drove through Arizona, crossed into New Mexico, and parked. Four Corners is a big, concreted area, with a small medallion in the middle marking the spot, and surrounded by flags of the states and tribes. We walked across four states, and stood on the medallion straddling all four of them for the obligatory photo.
Four states and a shadow. Four Corners. Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado.The Four Corners Monument in Navajo Nation.
Into Colorado
Not long after we returned to the road, we passed into Colorado and the Ute Lands. The colors seemed to change from reds and oranges to golden yellows. Later, we passed Towaoc and Cortez, before stopping for lunch at a cute little diner called The Depot in Dolores, Colorado.
Our road was headed up, up, up. Past Rico (elevation 8,827 ft), through the San Juan National Forest and the San Juan Mountains, and into my version of heaven-on-earth–Telluride.
Entering Colorado near Four Corners Monument.In the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation of Colorado.Driving in Southwest Colorado, where the land turns golden yellow. Near Towaoc and Cortez.A reminder in Dolores, Colorado! Christmas is coming soon.
November 5: The Rocky Mountains. Starting mileage 34,885.
Seeing friends in Denver
We arrived in Denver in a fever, desperate to get the oil changed before the Chevy dealer closed for the weekend. And we did. The car was happy and cared for. We, on the other hand, were still a little antsy from the worry adrenaline when we met up with Denver friends. As we told the story, we started laughing about it–the oil warning light fright, the speedy three hours of driving, and the unexpected encounter with wild-west tumbleweeds. Our first telling was over a home-cooked dinner at Denice’s house, then a late-night evening and breakfast at Lew and Ann’s, and followed by telling the tale over a mid-morning coffee with Jen before we left town,
Snowing on the roads ahead / Change of plans
With our friends, we also highlighted our travels so far and discussed plans to head north to South Dakota’s Badlands before turning west through Wyoming’s Yellowstone, and on to the Pacific coast. We had a National Parks Annual Pass burning a hole in its envelope, just waiting to be used.
I’d been checking the weather. It was snowing in both South Dakota and Wyoming. The forecast called for more snow too. Despite all my destination and route planning, I had not planned on snow. I brought this up with my Colorado friends. Should we try it or re-route?
“Wyoming is 80 mph and usually clear enough…well, except that stretch around Cheyenne.”
“Up there, it’s the wind you have to worry about. But they’ll close the roads if conditions get too bad.”
“You should be ok when you put on chains. You have chains, right?”
Chains!? Mama and I are Southern girls by birth and I have to say I hadn’t ever even considered the need for tire chains. Sure, I live in Chicago now, but I don’t own a car and it’s flat land anyway. As our Denver hours passed, I grew more nervous as another realization sunk in. Crap. Not only do we have to cut out The Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, and Yellowstone, we have to cross the Rockies…in November, maybe in snow. THE Rocky Mountains. The Continental Divide. IN NOVEMBER. What was I thinking?
Making new plans
By the time we met Jen for coffee, a re-route was firming up. The first step was getting over the Rockies. Today. In Colorado. We shouldn’t wait any longer, or go any further north before crossing. I made a reservation at a hotel in Grand Junction, Colorado. It was about four hours away, on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. Once we got there, we’d assess our options.
After a milky, hot coffee at a jam-packed, nook-and-cranny-cozy Stella’s Coffee Haus, we walked slowly back to the car. It was still fall here. Orange, red, and yellow leaves dotted the ground and were still clinging to the trees in this delightful old neighborhood. The sun was out. “It’s going to be a fine day for crossing the Rocky Mountains”, I repeated to myself, “Just fine.”
Getting over the Rockies
We headed out of Denver on I-70 West just before noon. After a little way, we stopped to fuel up in Georgetown. The air was a bit cooler, the trees more of the evergreen variety here. And some clouds were gathering in front of us.
Three German Shepherds waiting in a truck in the Rocky Mountains, Colorado. I took this as a good omen.
Near Loveland Pass (elevation 11,990) we passed through the mountains. The Eisenhower Tunnel (elevation 11,158) is nearly two miles of unnerving white concrete and freaky yellow lights entered through a mouse hole. When we exited, the clouds were dense and low, and snow patched the mountainsides around us. Skiers were on the mountain slopes.
It started spitting snow and sleet. We saw signs cautioning “Icy Roads”, and just before Silverthorne, one sign read “Trucks, you are not down yet. One more mile of steep grade.” Runaway truck ramps appeared frequently.
We stopped for a scenic overlook after Frisco. Actually, it was a pull-out place designated for putting on tire chains. But it was pretty here by a creek in the cool, fresh alpine air. The road curved onwards around and under mountains. We saw signs for ski towns–Vail (elevation 10,666), Breckenridge, Steamboat Springs, and Independence Pass. Towns included their elevation. The snow sprinkled down, sometimes turning parts of the road white as it blew across. Slow and steady, slow and steady.
Uh oh, a little snow in the Rocky Mountains. Between Frisco and Copper Mountain, Colorado.
And then, the road plateaued. The snow became drizzling rain. We breathed again, and I loosened my grip on the steering wheel. We just crossed the Rockies, in November!
The Rocky Mountains’ Western Slopes
We stopped for lunch in Eagle, Colorado, elevation 6,600. In keeping with our road trip lessons, we went for diner food. The Eagle Diner was warm and welcoming with its pink and blue 1950s-themed decor, and the rock-around-the-clock music pumping into the parking lot. Tasty comfort food grilled cheese and tuna-melt sandwiches go so well with hot fries and relief and joy! We’d made it over the Rocky Mountains!
Just after passing over the Rocky Mountains and the Continental Divide, we stopped for lunch at the Eagle Diner in Eagle, CO. Road Trip Lesson #6: Whenever possible, eat at the local diner.
Back on the westbound road, towns’ elevations were in the 5,000-6,000 range now. Still a mile high, but the threat of poor weather started to fall away. Mama got back to making notes in our travel log as we passed through more tunnels, and saw an exit called “No Name.” As it neared the hour of sunset, we entered Glenwood Canyon as I-70 ran alongside the Colorado River. In the dimming light of a cloudy day, this mighty canyon land was spectacular to see. What beautiful country the mountains are.
Somewhere after crossing the Rocky Mountains, the sun came back out for a few minutes.And as we neared Glenwood Canyon, the clouds returned.In Glenwood Canyon, Rocky Mountains, Colorado.A Glenwood Canyon Tunnel.Small car and big mountain ahead. Rocky Mountains, Colorado.
Reassessing in Grand Junction
Sundown, west of the Rockies.
We arrived not long after dark to our hotel, Springhill Suites in Grand Junction. Our plan was to take a little time to re-plan the next few days. And really, we needed time to just slow down. I think we both slept like babies that night in our comfy, quiet room.
Mama Lucy’s make-up bag, parked on the sink in our spacious and lovely Springhill Suites room in Grand Junction, CO.
November 6: Grand Junction, CO to Moab, UT. Starting mileage 35,144.
The next morning, we enjoyed the free breakfast buffet at the hotel. Great coffee, and Mama’s favorite–a waffle machine! We ate our fill, and took coffee refills back to relax in our suite. Unlike most days on our trip, we weren’t in a hurry to hit the road today. Mama settled in with her iPad and I got busy making some new plans online. We liked our hotel so much, that we stayed until the noon check-out time, and booked another Springhill Suites in our new, next destination: Moab, Utah.
A windmill in Western Colorado.The road, the clouds, and a view for miles. Western Colorado.
Utah…Life Elevated!
And we headed out into a beautiful, crisp day. This Colorado-into-Utah part of I-70 is big sky country. Clouds look painted into the bluest-of-blue skies. Roads go on forever. Desolate land. Big land. Roadrunner beep-beep land. This was going to be all right after all.
And thus, Road Trip Lesson #9: Changes happen. Don’t stress, just adjust and go. Every road has something to see.
Our new plan was to break-in the National Parks Annual Pass at Arches National Park. A previously unplanned stop. But hey, we were in the neighborhood. We were over the Rockies. And life is good.
Welcome to Utah. Life Elevated.What a gorgeous view at a rest stop in Utah.Wow Utah. Speed Limit 80. Why the hurry?The road is long and stretches out before us. Utah.Clouds, sky, and cliffs, Utah.
November 2: New Orleans to Dallas. Starting mileage 33,391.
Today, our plan was to drive across Louisiana into Texas, and spend the night near Dallas. We pulled out of New Orleans just before 9 a.m., weaving our way out of the city past the SuperDome, Lake Ponchartrain, and into a landscape of bayou swamps punctuated with stick trees. By the time we turned off I-10 West onto I-49 North the view had changed to pine trees and miles and miles of sugarcane fields.
Any day beginning with Cafe du Monde’s fresh hot beignets and coffee in New Orleans is a good day. Add a lunch stop for Louisiana home-cooked veggies and pie, and well, it’s a grand day! In keeping with our Road Trip lesson #6, we wanted a diner lunch. Now, this is not always easy to do when traveling on the U.S. interstate system. Sure, Cracker Barrels and McDonalds are everywhere. But how often do you find a local diner when on the interstate? Lucky for us, as we were nearing Alexandria, we saw Lea’s Diner listed on one of those blue services sign. The exit took us far into a rural area. Was the sign old? Was Lea’s gone? Just as we were thinking of turning back, we saw Lea’s–a large white building with a huge–and nearly full–parking lot. Turns out that Lea’s in Lecompte is “The Pie Capital of Louisiana”. So, in addition to a wholesomely delicious vegetable-plate lunch, we left with two pieces of pecan pie to go.
We were full from the healthy servings of vegetables at Lea’s Diner. But at the Pie Capital of Louisiana, one has to order the pie. So…pecan pie to go please! Yum!In keeping with our Road Trip lesson #6, we ventured off the highway for a diner lunch. Lucky us that we found Lea’s.
Texas, sassy Siri, and the Grackles
We crossed into Texas around 3 p.m. Everyone knows that Texas is a big state, but we were a little overwhelmed to see an exit numbered 635!
Sassy Siri
Since Washington D.C., we’d been using Siri for directions. Always a reserved travel companion, her calm voice gave us 10-mile and 2-mile exit reminders, and advised us on the lane we’d need to be in to make needed turns. About the time we were thinking of stopping for gas, she suggested a detour off the highway because of an unnamed hazard ahead, helpfully telling us the alternate route would save us six minutes. We took it.
We were driving along a back road, chatting about who-knows-what, when Siri interrupted with a sharper-than-normal voice, “I don’t know who your mother is. In fact, I don’t know who you are.” Well. Hello Siri! Mama and I laughed until we cried, amused and shocked that she had chimed into our conversation with such sass!
Only in Texas
We pulled over at an Exxon near Longview, to dry our eyes and fuel up. I stepped out of the car, surprised by the number of black birds walking around the busy fuel pump area. My chosen pump was broken and I had to go inside to prepay. Waiting in line, I noticed a tiger posed in a display case–dead and stuffed. Other majestic wild animals–now dead and stuffed–ringed the room. Sickened, and filled with growing fury that someone had hunted and killed these animals, it was, all of a sudden, my turn at the counter. I was not going to spend a penny to support this place. Nearly tongue-tied with sadness and anger, I think I said something along the lines of “Nevermind. I’m not shopping here because of the dead animals,” and left.
These moments in Texas were some of the strangest of our trip with Sassy Siri and the Grackles. Sounds like a pop-rock band.
Grackles
Back in the parking lot, more black birds had gathered. They flocked around the cars, hopping between the pumps and making the strangest, loudest sounds I’ve ever heard from birds. Two sat by the driver-side door as I came around. They stared without moving–maybe they were looking to see what they could grab out of my hands, or how easy it would be to peck my eyes out. They–and their parking-lot gang–sounded off like slide whistles or car alarms as I jumped in the car slamming the door. One bold and steely-eyed bird flew up to stand on the hood of the car as I put the key in the ignition. I didn’t want to run over his friends who might follow me now, and possibly into the afterlife, so I started moving very, very slowly. He sat there on the hood, staring back at me as if I was car-jacking his ride. It was only when I reached the street that he flew away, thankfully leaving us with the windshield wiper.
Later in the safety of our hotel room, I did a little research and found out these brazen birds are Great Tail Grackles, notorious for their array of “songs” and likelihood to be found hanging out at restaurants and convenience stores.
Until the cows come home?
We drove and drove and drove that day, through a surreal Texas landscape of smiling brown cows in fields, oil derricks shading picnic tables, and a sad truck carrying live chickens. A truck blew a tire right beside us. The sun went down and we were still on the road. Siri once again advised a detour to save three minutes. We declined, and ended up waiting in traffic to pass through an accident area with multiple fire truck and police car lights. Policemen motioned a single file of cars to drive with care through a mass of gravel on the highway. As we neared our hotel for the night, Siri took us off the highway onto backroads lit by the moon and bordered by golden fields and cows still grazing. Apparently, the cows don’t come home at night.
November 3: Dallas to Kansas. Starting mileage 33,911.
We were up early for the hotel’s free breakfast buffet and drove into Dallas just after the Friday morning rush hour.
Dealey Plaza
Back in D.C., we had visited John F. Kennedy’s grave. Today, our first stop was Dealey Plaza, where JFK was assassinated in November 1963. Like 9/11 or Pearl Harbor, “the day Kennedy was shot” is one of those days people remember. They remember exactly where they were, and what they were doing when they heard the news that he’d been shot in Dallas and had died. And today, almost 54 years later, we were standing at the scene of the crime.
There it all was, just like we’ve seen in movies and in the Zapruder film–the grassy knoll, the book depository, the turn on to Elm Street, the overpass. A green X on Elm Street marks the spot where Kennedy was hit. Signs tell us where Zapruder stood to make his infamous film, and where witnesses heard noises and saw smoke. Anyone can stand in that plaza and look at the X, and the 6th-floor window of the Book Depository behind it, and see for themselves what an impossibility it was. Plus, Zapruder’s film shows Kennedy’s head going back–as if a bullet had come from in front of his car, from the grassy knoll. Call it what you will. But having stood there, there’s no way there was just one shooter. I’m not the only non-believer. Other people were there too, most photographing, and one measuring and making notes. Mama and I walked around slowly, looking more than talking. Absorbing.
Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Where John F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. The turn from Houston to Elm and the Book Depository in the upper left.Fencing on the Grassy Knoll, Dealey Plaza, Dallas TX.The Book Depository, Dallas TX.A green X on Elm St. in Dallas, TX marks the place where a shot hit John F. Kennedy.
Oklahoma
We drove north out of Dallas, headed through Oklahoma to see Alex in Kansas. Wind farms, cows, birds gathered on bleachers and wires, and flat land for miles. Later, fog. Siri took us off the interstate as the sun was going down. We drove backroads that changed names, directions, and included a 3-mile stretch of gravel before returning to streets that, at least, looked inhabited. We found Alex’s house just inside the Kansas state line and enjoyed dinner with him.
Oklahoma Wind Farm.
November 4: Kansas to Denver. Starting mileage: 34,308.
There’s nothing like a thick fog to start a day of driving. And my-oh-my what a day this one would turn out to be. After breakfast at the hotel, we wound our way north on little roads until we caught up with I-35 just before Wichita. The fog was heavy for a long while. There still wasn’t much to see when it lifted beyond Kansas’ crop fields, windmills, cows, and an occasional flock of birds murmuring.
Fog lifting in Kansas.A million birds making in-flight designs in Kansas.
Warning Light
Hours later, somewhere around Colby, Kansas, the change oil light came on. We’d driven the car 5,000 miles in just over two-weeks. Of course, it deserved an oil change. We pulled into a truck service station and they kindly told us they could change it for us, but we’d have to go to another place to buy the filter and oil. At the other place, they told us that if a Chevy dealer didn’t change the oil, it could void Mama Lucy’s warranty. I searched on the phone. The nearest dealer was in Denver. It was Saturday and the dealer would close at 4 p.m. MST. It was 1 p.m. MST now, and we were three hours from Denver. The race was on.
Mama called ahead. “Of course we can change your oil if you arrive by 4 p.m.,” the dealer in Denver said. Meanwhile, I drove fast–let’s just say it was a little over the speed limit. The interstate was practically empty, and though it was getting windy, the sun had come out.
It was a fine day for a drive….until the tumbleweeds
We were humming along. A little tense, but confident we’d make it to Denver in time. The Kansas fields were golden, cows grazed by windmills–bucolic, pastoral, bread-basket land. Around the Kansas/Colorado state line, I began noticing tufts of straw balls gathered in little piles along the road side fences. “Ah! They must be tumbleweeds that got stopped by the fences,” I said as I noted to myself that the piles seemed to be stacking higher. And then…crossing the road just in front of us was a tumbleweed on the move! It was about the size of a basketball and bounced across the road and off to the shoulder to join others in the fence pile. We chuckled that we’d gotten to see a real, live tumbleweed. Neat! They’re not just in Texas or Arizona or where the Westerns and the ghost towns are!
And then, here comes another one. This one was closer, and more like the size of a suitcase. We missed it. And another one, two, three backpack-sized ones–now tumbling diagonally across the road toward the car. We hit one and heard the sound of brittle sticks breaking beneath the car. A minute later, a large one–about the size of an ottoman–rolled right between the wheels. We heard dings and scraping just before the stick-breaking sounds. This went on for several miles. I felt like I was in a video game–trying to avoid the tumbleweed obstacles, while staying in my lane with my swerving and the wind pushing, and still hauling because of the time limit.
The clouds were clearing as we neared the Colorado border, just before the tumbleweeds started.
Denver and the Oil Change
This story has a happy ending. We arrived at Bozarth Chevrolet in Aurora right at 4 p.m. It was the whitest, cleanest mechanic shop I’ve ever seen. They welcomed us and got started. A mere 25-minutes later, they had finished changing the oil. We barely had time to use their facilities and got some snacks in the waiting room. I think they even gave Mama’s Chevy a car wash and must have picked the tumbleweed straws out of the grill. Lesson #8 of the trip: Always take care of your ride.
The car getting an oil change and spa treatment in Denver.
Three quiet October days in Telluride. The place holds a special place in my heart.
I first visited Telluride on a media trip in 1999, just a couple of weeks after my Grandmother passed away. I was tired. My heart hurt from crying. And I ached to see her again, to talk to her some more…just a little more. While the rest of the group skied, I spent time in solitude…staring at the mountains. And in those moments, I found a peace that comforts me to this day.
So, when I realized that I’d be within a 6 hour drive of Telluride just a few days before my birthday, I decided to return.
The “6 hour drive” from Santa Fe turned into an 8 hour drive because I stopped so many times to admire the wide open spaces and the long winding roads through the pueblos and reservations of New Mexico.
Driving north from Santa Fe
I arrived in Mountain Village just before dark, threw my stuff in the room, and took the first of about a dozen gondola rides up and over the mountain into beautiful little Telluride.
Peace on the Mountain
I would spend only 3 nights there–waiting for the sun to rise and set on the mountain top, soaking up the sun on the streets of Telluride or my sweet little balcony, walking the side streets and trails with my camera, looking for the even-numbered magpies, sketching and writing in the coffee shops, and savoring a little time in the spa. Good days.
The Gondola into TellurideMake a Map: Things to do in the coffee shopThe gondola goes from Mountain Village up and over the mountain to Telluride in about 15 magic minutes.On the MountainWaiting for the sun to set on the mountain top…October 6, 2013.Pre-dawn ride to the Mountain top…October 7, 2013Sunrise…on Telluride’s Mountain…October 7, 2013
Another year around the sun
On my birthday, I was on the first gondola to the mountain top. I walked across the ridge waiting for the sunrise, my boots crunching the frosted grass. Three elk stopped about 50 feet in front of me. I could see their breath clouds. After a silent few minutes of mutual acknowledgement, they returned to grazing and I to walking. I heard their antlers tapping together a few minutes later and turned to see two of them playing like puppies on the mountain side. Just after sunrise, I called my mother and father from the mountain top. I talked to several friends that day, had a massage, enjoyed some home-made ice cream and had a perfect little day. And as I went back over the mountain the final time that evening in the quiet dark of my own gondola, I whispered a few things to my precious grandmother.
Telluride from the gondola in the deep quiet solitude of the mountainside.
I drove out of Telluride in the still pitch-black morning…at one point, I heard hooves clicking and clacking on the road. Eyes glistening in the dark indicated it was a family of deer. They ran alongside my car, for just a minute, on that winding mountain road. Ah, Telluride…I’ll be back!
