The Rockies Ride Home

   On virtually every vacation or getaway there comes a point where the realization arrives that your trip and fun and excitement will soon be coming to an end.  You can still be days away from the ship docking or having to board the flight home, but somewhere in the back of your head it is there...only a set number of days remain before you're back in your home.  It's a mixture of both denouement and anticipation, a reflection back at how much fun it has been so far (and likely still will be) and also a readiness to just get home and sleep in your own bed, to get your clothes washed and to yes, face the pile of bills that will follow you home as surely as the dust on your shoes, for try as you might to pay as you go there are always charges and often many which you've completely forgotten such as that bar tab on the ship that makes you think you might be on the edge of being an alcoholic (we had how many drinks?).  But that wasn't us; my wife and I had visited several national parks and we were now rendezvousing with some old friends in a central town, an old mining town nestled in the southern end of Colorado and hosting a coal-fired reminder of its earlier days (albeit one now bristling with very modern prices).  All aboard was the cry, and indeed we were exactly that, all "on" board for our delayed departure home, ready to play tourist in a town that was more than ready, the land-locked port city of Durango.

A portion of the Animas River

   Colorado is home to the Rockies, a baseball team yes but more importantly a shortened term used to describe the dominant mountain range known for its tall peaks.  To hike the peaks is often a challenge since Colorado has the most fourteeners in the U.S., the term being a quasi-mountaineering term for those mountains which are taller than 14,000 feet (Colorado has 53 such mountains in its Rocky Mountain Range).  And yes, the Rockies are home to yet another national park.*   But getting to that park meant crossing the Million Dollar Highway which meant more steep drop-offs and no guardrails (and a listing in Dangerous Roads if you care to watch a video) so our final days of the trip would be spent winding down with our feet firmly planted on the lower elevations.  We were here to play tourist, to feel as if a monster cruise ship had dropped us off and we had only a few hours to visit the shops and restaurants that were eagerly waiting for the hoards of people;  but we had days and not hours and so we jumped on a bus headed for the mining town of Silverton, a place virtually abandoned in winter since supplies can only randomly get in, the roads and trains coming to a full stop with the fierce snow.  The Animas River beside us was roaring and made us realize where that term came from, the rushing waters running cold and deep from the snowmelt and its sound as menacing as that of any lion on the hunt.  From a normal run rate of 4500 cubic feet per minute, the river was now at 7200 cfm, and the full snowmelt was only beginning.

One small portion of the Rocky Mountains in late June

   The Rockies are tall (obviously), the continental shifts pushing the peaks higher and further inland, the same geologic history pattern of the Himalayas and the Sierras.  The heavy snow that came this winter to the steep ridges would lead to many avalanches, 135 of them at last count in this area; and rather than the beautiful tumbling snow often captured on videos, many of the avalanches fell across roads, blocking them with 65-100 feet of snow.  But the roads were now clear as we passed through land once occupied by such Wild West characters as Bill Cody, Annie Oakley and James Butler Hickok, a gunslinger known not only for his bravado but also his often self-embellished tall tales which etched his name in history as Wild Bill Hickok.  It was also the home to the Dalton gang who often brutally ran and protected their mining operations; but Doc Holladay had a better idea and rather than fight the Daltons he opened a series of brothels in the area, or so said our driver.  That was back in the late 1800s; the land has since settled after its volcanic beginnings (the town of Silverton is nestled in an ancient caldera) and the area is now home to wildlife such as elk, 20,000 strong in this area alone and still just a small part of the 250,000 in the state, the largest such population of elk in the world (and as if in tribute to the wild gangs of old, many hunting sites will be more than happy to show you just where those elk will likely be).  We also passed through the crumbled pieces of granite that early builders of the railroad blew up with dynamite and would painstakingly break down even further with pick axes  (dynamite being initially discovered by chemist Alfred Nobel, yes that Nobel).  Granite, with its own convoluted history,** would emerge as the hardest igneous rock humans would encounter, even as we now admire it from afar as Half Dome in Yosemite and in the carvings of Mt. Rushmore.  None of which mattered to the builders of the railroad.  There was silver in the town, tons of it, which lead to the town's name of Silver-ton; but the air was too thin for the town to operate a smelter so why not use the one located in the nearby mining town of Durango, a mere 48 miles away...but how to get all those tons of ore through the rugged mountains?  It was the building of a railroad that would make mining the area last a century...and we were soon to board one of the seemingly antique trains that helped create that boon.

   The touristy train is a sight to see, its coal-powered steam engine shooting puffs of black smoke into the otherwise pristine mountain air.  But the $150 average-price trip for the 3-hour+ ride each way gives you that childish feeling that comes with being on such a fading form of transport, the rumble along the track and the steam shooting out of the sides, the conductor walking through and appearing almost as old as the train itself, the not knowing if the train will topple down into the gorge below (a third rail is there to prevent that but none of the guests are made aware of that fact, adding to the thrill as everyone leans over to one side for a quick view).  Before leaving however, small shovel loads of coal are thrown into the bin (unlike the movies, it's a relatively small amount so as not to smother the fire raging in the boiler), sand shoots onto the tracks for the engine's wheels to grip if rain continues to bear down, and with wave of the hand and a loud blast from the steam whistle, we begin moving.  We round corners and take in the scenery, the colorful sections of forest contrasting with the blacken granite and the river alongside.  The daredevil antics of riding are perhaps only matched by braving entry into the tiny bathroom in each rail car, a place where the zig-zagging of the train seems exaggerated for your benefit.  People fall asleep (those who have chosen to ride the train in both directions) and our behinds begin to get a it sore...we have redeemed our badges as softened "city slickers."

 But before long we are back in Durango, the train still puffing and tooting and passing straight through the town's center as both people and cars stop to wave and gawk at this piece of iron that is still making its way back and forth up and down the San Juan passes (the San Juans are the southern tip of the Rockies with Durango sitting near the Four Corners, the states of Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico all coming to a singular shared touching point of their "corners").

Sign outside a Durango art gallery

   We had arrived hungry, dazzled by the scenery for certain but ready to be off of this clickity-clack hard wood seat (we were told that the early stage coaches used to take 3-4 days for the same journey).  We didn't care if we were tourists, or cluttering the town like wandering lost folk.  We liked the feel of the place, the open shops, the occasional live music, the variety of menus.  So we stopped in an eclectic restaurant called Chimayo, had a nice dinner and a few rounds of thirst-quenching drinks, and returned to our hotel.  This small southern corner of Colorado had captivated us, its ancient history preserved at Mesa Verde, its nearby mountains and rivers adding to the thrill of discovery, although upon returning home I would "discover" that the eclectic restaurant had padded our bill, something which took five phone calls and several days for the restaurant to clear...dang if I didn't feel that there was still a bit of that old Dalton gang still living it up in Durango.  And did I forget to mention that Colorado has legalized both medical and recreational marijuana?   I swear that our servers looked a bit too happy...but that's all for another post.

A view of the San Juan Mountains as the train crossed the Animas River

 *Despite the severe budget cuts on National Parks imposed by President Trump (he recently took even more money from the park's budget in order to pay for his military "parade" on the 4th of July), there is reason to hope says a report in a travel industry newsletter.   Making its way through Congress is a bipartisan bill to "restore our parks" with funding for maintenance and infrastructure (a go-around bill via the Transportation Department to improve road and bridge access was approved for three parks)...sites that follow such legislation unfortunately give the parks bill only a 25% chance of passage.   But there's hope and it comes from all places, the park workers themselves.  In a piece in TIME, Matthew Vandzura, a park ranger at the Grand Canyon, commented on the recent government shutdown, the sixth he has witnessed: We are a little blip in geologic time.  You still need to do good work for the people who surround you, but it helps to put things in perspective.  Even though it's empty space, you can still sort of feel it when you're by yourself out on the edge.

**Even if you're not that interested in geology, the brief summary of granite by writer Trevor Nace in Forbes is worth a quick peek.  Here's a sample: Granite colors range the spectrum from white to black to pink, but what makes a single rock type so variable?...Granite is an intrusive igneous rock with large grains (minerals) easily seen by the naked eye.  Granite colors are most commonly pink, white, variations of grey and black.  However, it's important to note that some stones marketed as black 'granite' are in fact likely gabbro as granite must contain at least 20% quartz within a rock to make it granite.  Looking for those granite countertops?...Nace's writing gives you a quick background of where and how that stone originated before it landed in your kitchen or bathroom...and perhaps help you to appreciate that stone all the more.