Hello, readers!

Hello, readers!

I am not currently on the road. Please check back periodically later this year as I have no idea when I'll be traveling! August? September? October? Who knows!

Cheers,
Kelly

Sunday, August 29, 2021

Colorado Blue

8-6-2021

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My stay in Ouray has been all too short, but it’s time to be moving on. You see, this trip, I have somewhere very important to be! One of my best friends is getting married in Denver on Saturday (tomorrow)! I couldn’t possibly miss that, even if I will be sad to leave the wilder regions of Colorado. So today I say goodbye to Western Colorado, and cross the mountains over to Denver.

Crossing this region of Colorado is always a little interesting. Today’s concern was that Highway 50 – one of really only two roads that links this side of Colorado to the Denver area – would be closed. Not down to one lane, but closed entirely. The highway winds through a very narrow rocky gorge that’s prone to shed large boulders onto cars below, and this year CODOT was determined to do some blasting to widen the cut and improve the engineering of the hillside. A noble cause, but… you know, I wanted to go on that road. Because the other option is to tack another hour and a half onto my drive by taking the Highway 92 detour up and around the closed section of 50. Because the OTHER other option, which is to run all the way up to Grand Junction and then over through Glenwood Springs, is no longer an option due to mudslides in Glenwood Springs wiping out the highway. There’s just not a whole lot of roads that cross giant mountain ranges like this, and those that do, are plagued by instability and, consequently, frequent closures.

Jane and I set out relatively early, for us, with the hope that I’d be able to find some way to cross the Rockies without making my drive 7 hours. Showing up to a social affair after 7 hours of driving through the mountains is just… well, not fun.

We hit Montrose and our turnoff for Highway 50, and as luck would have it, CODOT was feeling generous. Giant signs proclaimed Highway 50 to be fully open due to the closures of the other highway at Glenwood Springs. A good logical decision, but you never know with government authorities, so I was happy to see that someone had made the call. Feeling substantially more optimistic about the day’s driving now that I knew I could take the road I wanted without any crazy detours, I settled back into the seat, ready for some good curvy mountain roads.

The day proved to be one of those classic Colorado Blue days, with the sky presenting an endless vibrant blue studded with fluffy sun-drenched clouds. It’s easy to get lost in a sky like this, looking up into the impossibly deep vastness of the universe. If you keep your eyes on Earth instead, it’s equally easy to be drawn into the landscape. On days like this, it feels as if you can see with perfect clarity all the way to the horizon, however far that may be. And you find yourself wanting to know what’s beyond even that furthest point. Days like this are the perfect days for driving great roads.

Traffic was constant but widely spaced, as if everyone was taking the opportunity to slow their lives down to enjoy this perfect moment in time. I know I did. We carved our way east with perfect composure, reveling in the luxury of the sun’s warmth, the slight crisp chill to the breeze, the whisper of tall grasses and the rustle of aspens, the varied stunning landscapes that changed with each twist of the road.






Curecanti is especially beautiful on days like this.


Plains gave way to foothills, and foothills gave way to mountains, and we wound through we wound through Monarch Pass, at 11,312 ft. elevation. Many people stopped at the top of the pass to catch their breaths and cool their cars before braving the descent, but not us. Jane was made for this. We continued on. The mountains gave way back to more foothills and then to more plains. 





Suddenly things began to look familiar, and I realized that we were skirting my old stomping grounds! Back when I lived up in Florissant, CO, I used to come out this way to Antero and Fairplay for drives through the vast grassy plains. This is the South Park Basin, also known as the Heart of Colorado. The pastureland here is full of herds of horses and pronghorn antelope and not much else – few homes, few things to clutter the landscape. It was always a nice treat to be able to run out here where I really had space to breathe, with ample stretches of straight road where I could truly open the motor up. Twisty mountain roads might be more fun to drive, but there is something special about seeing this much space ahead of you and knowing it’s all yours to claim.






Fifty miles later, I was out of the basin and back up in the mountains, crossing the remaining bit of the Rockies to reach Denver. By this point, the perfect Colorado Blue day had disappeared, replaced by a drizzly rainy gray afternoon, fairly common in the summers here. Traffic cluttered up, speeds slowed, and I considered my perfect moment of leisure ended. Now, I had one mission: get to Denver, as expediently as possible.

Strong summer squalls whipped through, periodically drenching me and everyone else on the road and slowing traffic to a crawl. Mountain driving might be fun normally, but it is absolutely no fun at all in a terrible rainstorm when you can’t see. Jane’s wipers beat furiously, and eventually even I conceded to the weather, pulling my arm inside and rolling my window up, leaving the vent window cracked on anti-condensation duty. Well, at least the car would be a little cleaner when I arrived at my friend’s house, maybe.

I grumped my way into Denver as the storms cleared and a smokey haze – drifting all the way from the wildfires in the Pacific Northwest, apparently – filled in in their place. My Colorado Blue day was gone. But my spirits remained high as I arrived safely at my destination and joyfully greeted my friend, her soon-to-be husband, and her family. The whole house appeared to be at a rolling boil as preparations for tomorrow’s wedding continued; I was immediately thrown into the mix and got to work helping to pull things together. And so the next two days passed, with me temporarily trading my serene, solitary road trip life for bustling, lively wedding party duties, and Jane sitting dutifully in the family’s garage, covered in no small amount of grime (turns out instead of cleaning the car, the rain just mixed with the dust and made mud) and patiently awaiting the open road.

The next post I make will be for August 9th, which is the day I’ll be back on the road. Until then… Kelly signing out.


Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Yerr-Ay, the Switzerland of America

8-5-2021 

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Today, I finally learned how to correctly pronounce the name of the town I was in: Yerr-Ay. Don’t ask me how they got there from “Ouray”, which seems like it would naturally be pronounced “oo-ray” or even “yoo-ray”. All I know is that if you pronounce it “oo-ray”, everyone in town will instantaneously know that you’re a tourist. So go ahead, give that word the good ole Texas treatment and slur those consonants with a nice low drawl!

Much of my confusion came from the fact that every person I run into seems to pronounce this town’s name differently. Granted, most of those people are tourists. So this morning, I got it straight from the waitress at the campground cafĂ©, who seemed like a no-nonsense native (she was). And now, I, too, can pretend like I’m one of the locals! Except for the part where I’m carrying around all kinds of swag, of course.

Bryan and I parted ways after a hearty breakfast, with him heading on to Durango to visit other friends and me staying in town (YERR-AYYYY, I reminded myself) for a day of relaxation. Well, kind of relaxation.

The town’s visitor center had extensive information on all of the hiking trails around Ouray, so it was easy enough to select a couple to go on for the day’s activity. I settled on three of the most popular trails: the Ouray Perimeter Trail, Baby Bathtubs, and Lower Cascade Falls. I figured a good 8ish miles of hiking would be no problem and would fill up my day very nicely.

The Ouray Perimeter Trail is a 6ish mile loop that goes exactly where it says: around the perimeter of Ouray. What makes this trail so popular is the fact that it goes around Ouray’s perimeter from a path situated roughly a thousand feet above the valley floor, so you’re treated with sweeping 360* views of the entire town nearly the whole time you’re hiking. It is pretty unique to be able to circumnavigate a town like this, and is really only possible because Ouray is built in a little bowl-shaped valley surrounded by steep craggy mountains. The town's slogan - "the Switzerland of America" - is well-deserved!

Both the Baby Bathtubs trail and the Lower Cascade Falls trail are offshoots on the Perimeter Trail, so I figured I might as well just knock them all out at once. I parked Jane on the street across from the visitor center and hopped on the trailhead, ready to tackle an awesome day of spectacular vistas!

I quickly found out about the one downside of this trail: the elevation gains. From the trailhead, the path arrowed straight upwards, with nearly a thousand feet of elevation gain in the first half mile. Ouch! I felt very much like a flatlander as I struggled my way upwards, dealing with the twin effects of elevation and a large amount of breakfast in my gut. Nevertheless, I persisted on pushing myself, unable to admit that maybe I am a little more out of shape than I think. Impossible!

The trail did eventually level out, and I found myself skirting around the base of a cliffy outcrop on a narrow pathway that offered my first really great views of town:






Looking down on the cluster of homes and shops, I pondered what life must be like for those who live here. Ouray is a playground for vacationers and Jeepers, popular in summers for its offroading, hiking, and lovely weather, but less popular in winters due to a lack of winter sports facilities (in comparison to places like Breckenridge and Vail), not to mention more difficult access. I can only imagine that when the snow starts falling, things get very quiet and the town probably feels very small. And then when summer sun arrives, and tourists with it, the town must feel very bloated. Maybe the residents really enjoy the dual nature of the town.

As I had chosen to head clockwise around the trail, I came up on the Lower Cascade Falls loop fairly quickly. Lower Cascade Falls is – you guessed it – a waterfall. I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was still flowing pretty strongly, thanks to a fairly wet summer. Lots of people and pets milled around, reveling in the cool mists coming off the falls. It’s a bit strange of a thing to notice, but I noticed that the area around the falls was almost completely devoid of trash. I spend a lot of time hiking, and I’ve seen a lot of popular trails totally trashed with garbage blowing around everywhere. So for a trail this close to town to be this clean, that means that either the falls are cleaned regularly by the city, or Ouray is one of very few places where the majority of the population respects and cares for their natural spaces. I’d really like to think it’s the latter.


Good flow, for August!

I really enjoyed the different cuts of the rocks near the falls. Different erosional patterns means different rock types up there in that cliff face!

After spending my own time milling about the falls area, I hopped back on the Perimeter Trail and continued winding my way south. It quickly became apparent to me that the Perimeter Trail is not intended to be forgiving so much as it is intended to be spectacular. Instead of reaching a maximum elevation after the initial climb and then routing the trail along the mountains at that elevation, the Ouray Perimeter Trail wanders up and down the hillsides as it pleases, subjecting you to steep inclines and declines in a relentless pursuit of the most picturesque views.

I have to say, although my knees were less than happy with the arrangement, my eyes were quite okay with it.


A nice lightly-forested hillside with lots of wildflowers

A uniquely-named "Police Car Moth", which was fortunately interested enough in the flowers that it let me get close for a photo

Looking out over town from another perspective

A lovely purple flower in some interesting light

As I approached the southern margin of town, I hopped off on the second offshoot trail I had planned on seeing: the Baby Bathtubs trail. I had inquired about the name in the visitor center, as it is a pretty weird name for a trail. But all I received was some kind of vague reply about there being rocks shaped like baby bathtubs. I don’t really know what a baby bathtub looks like, I guess, as I had a hard time picturing what the volunteer was talking about. So I was excited to find out!

A short jaunt up the trail had me crossing a shallow creekbed, and it was there that I saw them. The baby bathtubs! The creek had carved down through a layer of very hard rock, forcing the stream of water into narrow channels wherever the rock was a bit softer. Those channels, in turn, got hollowed out and smoothed over by millions of gallons of water flowing through them over hundreds – or more likely thousands – of years. The end result? A series of hollows in the rock that look perfectly suited to put a baby in!

Crystal clear water – so clear as to be nearly invisible - streamed through these “bathtubs”, burbling pleasantly through the twists and turns in the channels, doing its part to smooth them even further. This, surely, is the place where all inspiration for home nature-scaped water fountains comes from! I found myself a little irritated that the pools are only baby-sized. A nice soak in one of those smoothed-out hollows would have been just the thing. But, alas. I had to content myself with pictures.


The water is so clear that you can't really even see it in this photo, so mostly it just looks like a weird picture of a rock

Eye level view

Looking down on a deceptively large volume of water roaring through the main creek. Theoretically, a Kelly-sized bathtub... but also a very deadly one




I hiked along the trail for a mile or two, skirting the creek the whole time. Then the Perimeter Trail called me back, and I began my hike around the southern margin of the town. Interestingly, you have to cross the Million Dollar Highway on this portion of the trail – not something I would have considered advisable for trail planners, but I guess the speed limit on the “highway” is low due to the curvy downhill grade so they considered it an acceptable risk. I had no trouble crossing, at any rate, and just Frogger’d my way across between the RVs screeching downhill in a plume of brake smoke.


Looking down at the Million Dollar Highway





At the furthest southern crux of the trail, I crossed the Uncompahgre River. And I found myself saddened doing so. This river would be gorgeous, with its impressive cascades and booming flow, but for one thing: its grungy yellow color. This color comes from heavy metals – particularly arsenic – leached into the river from nearby mining operations. Consequently, not only is the river very unappetizing to look at, but it is also very toxic. The sight was a far cry from the perfectly crystalline waters of Baby Bathtubs a mere mile away. I wish that mining operations weren’t allowed to get away with this – and really, I can’t fathom how they have.




I followed the Ice Park Trail (which is also the Perimeter Trail, I guess) back down the gorge, following the rushing yellow waters of the Uncompahgre. A ways down the path, I started to notice something odd in the opposing rock face across the river: a bunch of stakes and cables wired into the rocks. They looked, to me, like footholds! I saw a sign posted near one cluster and used my camera as a telescope to check it out. Imagine my surprise when I found that the stakes and cables were indeed for climbing! I also saw a number of very sketchy-looking cable ladders and bridgeways across the river.









Eventually, I stumbled across a sign – on my side of the canyon – that explained what I was looking at: Ouray Via Ferrata. Apparently, experienced climbers like to crawl around on the sheer rock faces out here, and have devised a way to do it regularly with these inset permanent footholds, ladders, and cabled walkways. All of this, done right over the roaring rapids of the throttled Uncompahgre! The sign advised “THIS ACTIVITY CAN KILL YOU” and I believed it. One slip and one harness failure can dash you on the rocks or send you into the swirling river. I’m not sure which would be worse, but both seem to be certain ways to die. I moved on, passing a few daredevil climbers gearing up, and suppressed a shudder. None of that for me! I prefer my feet on the ground, thanks.


After that, the trail climbed again – AGAIN – winding its way up into the sky for more sweeping views of the town. I have to say that these ones were my favorite, at least. 





A short bit later, I entered Box Canon Park and found myself facing a very daunting bridge suspended across a steep gorge. Sitting several hundred feet above the very healthy Canyon Creek, it was one of those types that is perfectly safe – stable, high-walled, and completely immobile – but also perfectly scary due to its see-through floor.  I edged my way out onto it, then leaned on the rail to take in the sights. And lo and behold, what did I see but a gigantic, very obvious angular unconformity!


Check out how the steeply angled (almost upright) layers of rocks at the bottom are planed off by the overlying horizontal layers of rocks!

“Wow, that looks like the Great Unconformity,” I thought. The Great Unconformity, in simple terms, is basically a line in the rocks that represents over 100 million years – sometimes even up to a billion years – of missing time. Underlying Precambrian-age rocks (usually a billion years old or older) are tilted upwards at an angle due to uplift sometime after their deposition (for example, mountain ranges being built later in the PreCambrian). Those angled rocks appear to be planed off by some unseen cheese grater, and intersect with overlying much younger rocks (only a few hundred million years old) which are laid horizontally on top. So essentially, a ton of rocks were deposited, uplifted, and then subsequently heavily eroded flat, erasing hundreds of millions of years of preserved time before deposition began again. This unconformity can be found in numerous places in the United States and even worldwide, but you’re most likely to see it (and literature regarding it) at the Grand Canyon!

I spotted an exhibit sign nearby and was excited to find that it was a geology sign – and sure enough, what I was looking at was THE Great Unconformity. What a cool surprise! Not knowing anything about the geology of the area, really, I hadn’t expected to see this particular feature here. But there it was. I made a random passerby take my picture with it, of course. The Great Unconformity is like a rock celebrity!


Anyways, geologist silliness aside, I very much enjoyed the views, even if the sight of the crashing river far below, as seen through the floor of the bridge, was a bit concerning.


It's hard to get a sense of scale, but I would estimate that that river is about 25 feet wide down there.


A tunnel bored through the rock on the other side of the bridge, bearing me through a particularly steep part of the mountainside (for which I was very thankful). 


A series on the steps on the other side continued downward, before… you guessed it, the trail went up AGAIN. This time, I hiked several steep switchbacks up a gravel road before the trail wound off into a nice wooded area, then dumped me at my next scenic vistas. By this point I found myself pretty amused. Every trail has a kind of character to it, and the Ouray Perimeter Trail feels… resourceful and determined. It uses precut roads and pathways where it can, but never misses out on a single chance at a great view, determined to make you acknowledge the beauty of the town at the expense of your knees. I really like this one.



Bit of a skinny goat track, really.


Eventually, the trail began to slope down for the last time, winding its way back towards relative civilization. As I descended through the pine forest, I spotted a few really cool fossils that had fallen down the slope from the rock faces above. Score! I ended up with a nice piece of crinoid-bearing black mudstone and a brown fusilinid-bearing silty packstone (fusilinids look like fancy swirly grains of rice, so probably they’re only interesting to me). Sweaty and tired, my legs (and especially my knees) aching in protest, I finally arrived at the base of the trail again, coming out somewhere near the middle of town. I felt a bit conspicuous as I wandered into town on my way back to Jane, dusty and disheveled where most others were clean and well-dressed. I guess that the Jeepers and hikers were still out on the trails, so only the shopping contingent was circulating the downtown stores at that time. But I wasn’t about to miss my chance at some quality souvenirs just because I was dirty! So I wandered the touristy strip for a while until I had settled on my usual souvenir trio: a mug, a Christmas ornament, and a postcard to send to my sister. Then, of course, I had to stop at an ice cream shop that I saw, because my poor legs deserved a treat after the day’s activities.

Feeling very pleased with myself, I wound my way back to Jane on the other end of town, where she sat patiently waiting. I arrived just in time to capture a nice golden light on the hill just ahead of her.



 As evening fell, I headed back to camp for a tasty dinner of hamburgers fried up on a pan on my grill. They’re no Telluride hamburgers, with no fancy toppings or trendy exotic meats, but hey, they didn’t cost me 40 bucks either. A pretty good end to a really great day. Tomorrow, I’ll head on to civilization – but for now, I’m happy to be out here in the cool mountain air, listening to the muted sounds of nature overlain by the much louder hum of avid Jeepers coming and going from the campground. Oh, well, I guess one can’t ask for perfect solitude all the time.

Kelly signing out.