Homeward Bound

 We started the drive home deciding to stay on the old highways. US 50, which runs to Cincinnati, seemed the logical choice since it passes right through Montrose Colorado where we were hanging out.

In eastern Colorado we discovered John Martin State Reservoir just as the sun was setting. We found over 300 camp sites empty so we set up camp in a site near the reservoir. We quickly got a campfire started so we could cook some sweet corn for dinner.

This area is mostly prairie and farms.

Our campsite with the reservoir in the background. The corn, which we bought at a Pow-Wow in Montrose, is on the grill. We spray it with cooking spray, sprinkle it with Frank's Hot sauce, and cook it until it's slightly blackened all around.

I have no photos of the night sky that formed overhead before the moon lifted above the eastern horizon brightening the sky and throwing light on the stars. In areas such as this, where almost no light pollution contaminates the view, one can see almost more stars than black sky. The light from the nearest star complex, Alpha Centauri, left those stars more than four years ago. The light from some of the stars we saw that night has been travelling for more than 2.5 million years to reach our eyes. That light left those stars before the ice age and long before humans rose to take over the earth.
We shared that view with just a small part of the population who live on our side of the earth. The passengers of ships at sea, the passengers of airplanes in the sky, nearby farmers who were awaiting the harvest moon to rise, and the passengers of a train that I heard passing nearby could also see the show.
Until the rattle of iron wheels pounding on rails disturbed the near quiet, all we could hear were the insects of the night buzzing over the grassland.
I stepped upon the picnic table to look for the train. It passed just about a mile to the west of us. I knew it was a passenger train since N&W doesn't provide lighting for the cattle to sip their aperitif while reading the New Yorker. It must have been the Southwest Chief, a train that I had once taken from LA to Chicago. I recall sitting up late in my cabin to observe the night sky just as we were that evening at the campground.
Finally, the moon rose big and bright and orange. It was just beyond its full phase. But a waning moon is still plenty bright enough for farmers to work their fields and for us to see almost as well as on a cloudy day.
The train rattled away as the moon turned white. We ate some of the corn and saved the rest for the following day. Time for sleep.

The Million Dollar Highway

After leaving Mesa Verde we drove US 160 toward Durango, Co. Along the way we discovered the Columbine Bar in the tiny town of Mancos. It has no relationship to the high school which is near Denver.

 Mandy talked to an WWII era lady named Lucille who told of bye-gone days at the Columbine Bar while I fell into a conversation with John Candy (look alike), a geologist who came to the area to study rocks but the only paying job has has ever found is manual labor. John repeatedly cast racist slur at Mike, the jovial bartender. "Don't burn my enchiladas you wet-back," John yelled. "I'm not Mexican, I'm an Injin," Mike yelled back with a smile. The banter went on the entire time we were there. Mike looked as if he might be a little of both.

 North of Durango, we found a campsite in a RV park. Our little bus was the smallest rig in the park.

 The next morning we started north on highway 550 which leads through Silverton and Ouray (pronounced you-ray) to Montrose.

 The highway is also called the million dollar highway, not because of the cost but because the original highway was built using gold mine tailings as a base. Locals say that a million dollars of gold lies under each mile.

 Most of the highway has no guard rail as it winds within inches of a fall of hundreds of feet to the valley below. We saw no large RVs driving this stretch. Later, in Montrose, we were told that cars and some trucks roll over the side each year.

At a bar in Silverton, we met John Wayne on the wall.

We also met a few characters on the mantle. Enlarge to note the Native American in the Jim Beam poster.

 Here is a view down the main drag of Silverton, Colorado.

 The following photos are of the unnerving drive from Silverton to Ouray.

 In Ouray, these mule deer casually crossed the street and sauntered into a yard.

Ouray, Coloradro

OSU versus Eastern Michigan provided the excitement of the day which we tuned in on Sirius radio. Mandy wore her favorite jersey for support.

Mandy made a sleepy friend.

More mountain roads.



Monument Valley and Mesa Verde

We headed south on US 191 into Blandling where, finally, a rainstorm hit. We had been waiting more than two weeks for a rainy day to do laundry but the weather remained perfect day after day. We spent two hours in the laundromat and when we left the sun was again shining.

Our next destination was Monument Valley on Route 160 on the Utah - Arizona border.

 Along the way we passed this formation called Mexican Hat. It's near the town of, what else, Mexican Hat, Utah.

 I still have fly poop on my lens. Sorry, I'll photo shop them later and repost.

 We bought jewelry from this lady who made most of it herself.

 These photos are my attempt at one of the most photographed scene in travel photography.

Not this one, though.

 The above rock is locally known as 'El Capitan'.

More shopping, then we're off to Mesa Verde in southwest Colorado, the ancient homes of the Anasazis (500 AD) and later the Cliff Dwellers.

To understand the scale of these buildings, look closely (or click to enlarge) and you will see visitors next to the dwellings.

Find the cliff dwellings in the center of the photo.

Above is an Anasazi dwelling which would have been covered with roofs over wooden poles bordering the dugout area. At the far end is the chimney vent which would allow air to enter the dwelling so that smoke could rise through opening in the roof. This type of dwelling, built on the flats above the cliffs, were precursors to the cliff dwellings.

A pair of beautiful feral (we presume) horses were grazing the cliff tops.