Geology

I wonder if anyone has made a font out of those letters? Probably.

I'd also bet you that those are the same wheels that were there when our family stayed there when I was a kid. The little drainage canal that my brother and I raced boats in is gone, but everything else looks just about the same. I'm very happy to know they're keeping the place going. I wonder if the cabins have the same ancient gas stoves they had when my mom cooked fresh-caught trout for us when Dad brought his catch back from Green Creek in the evening.

The boats that Pat and I raced were actually aspen twigs that we carved into vague canoe shapes. We shaved the ends to points and dug out a crude divot for the imaginary Indians to sit in during their perilous journey through the dark unknown passage through the culvert under the driveway. We'd drop the boats in at one end of the pipe and then race over to the other side to cheer our unseen paddlers to victory.

Despite the fact that I attributed each of my victories to my awesome design and carving skills, the 50/50 win percentage would probably give greater support to a theory of random waterflow chaos inside the culvert. Indeed, I seem to remember that there were times when only one boat would emerge, and the other craft and its hypothetical occupants were presumed to be unfortunate maritime casualties.

I suspect that these episodes were contributors to the fact that several years later I earned my Canoeing merit badge in the Boy Scouts, and was later a gold medalist in the Wichitennial River Festival Canoe Jousting contest. What remains a complete mystery is why parents of that generation were willing to give knives to boys with single-digit ages, and leave them unsupervised to whittle boats and play in drainage ditches. And yes, in case you're wondering, we also practiced throwing those knives at make-believe savages, and even played mumbletypeg. No harm came of it, and much learning and personal growth was attained, I'm sure.

Anyway, if you're looking for a quaint cabin getaway in the summer, give the Wagon Wheel a call: (719) 539-6063.



This is not my photo, but for some reason, I didn't think to take a picture at the top of Monarch Pass. I think it was because I was hungry and had to pee. I did pull over there, and I did find a secluded spot to, um, eat my lunch, etc. I was planning to stop at the gift shop there, which was another favorite family visitation spot on those old vacations. I seem to remember eating breakfast at the Monarch Crest facility pictured here, but I definitely remember the tourist trinkets they had for sale in the store.

Yes, that's where we bought the sheath knives we used to carve our aspen stick boats. We also bought suction-cup tipped archery sets, Monarch Crest pennants to hang on our bedroom wall at home, and other worthless crap like rubber-band pistols, pixie stix, and rattlesnake eggs. It wasn't much different than any other tourist trap gift shop, carrying the same stupid logo-encrusted spoons, ceramic bells, and Yosemite Sam license plate holders...but it's at 11,312 feet. (Of course, when I was there on this warm Thanksgiving Day, there wasn't much snow in evidence.)

After Monarch, I continued west. I drove straight past Gunnison and Blue Mesa Lake, and headed on into the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park.



My original intention was to find one of the trails that led down into the canyon, and to descend to the river, take some pictures, and then run back up. This intention was thwarted by two factors: There was ice and snow on many of the trails, and since I'm clumsy enough under dry and flat conditions, such treacherous trails could easily spell doom and disaster if attempted. Plus, there were signs that said "You MUST have a permit for any activities within the canyon." And since it was Thanksgiving, the Visitor Center was not open -- making it impossible to obtain a permit.

Since I always obey the rules (cough), I decided to run on the road instead of trying the steep trails. I was disappointed, of course, since the challenge of a steep ascent was one of the things that drew me toward this canyon. Alas, for this trip, I was destined to remain atop the plateau.

Which is not to say that the road is flat, nor easy. It's all over 8000 feet high, with constantly rolling hills. And of course, the side trails out to the vista points contained steeper trail sections that offered plenty of challenge to my limited trail running abilities. I parked at the Visitor Center and contemplated running to the end of the road, which would give me a little over 12 miles, round-trip.

I ended up just going 7. The side trails out to the overlooks provided a good workout, and stopping to take photos of the spectacular canyon ate up the clock. There were only a few other tourists out there, but everyone seemed to be enjoying the wonderfully warm temperatures and dazzlingly clean air. I could not have asked for better conditions for my exercise/photo excursion.

But as I ran and ogled the scenery, I also did some math in my head. I calculated that I would not be able to finish the entire loop and make it back to the car in time to have any sunlight for the drive back to Salida. My night vision isn't that great, so I wanted to get back over Monarch before dark if possible. And I was getting a dandy workout anyway, so I wouldn't need to regret cutting it short.

I tried to go as fast as I could on the last mile, and was pleasantly exhausted when I got back to the car. But I still wanted to see the last couple of overlooks, so I drove back down the road I had just been on.

As I said, there were very few cars in the Park. But as I approached another guy in a Subaru, I was surprised to see him wave at me out his window. It was my buddy Chris Wolf! He's the Business Development guy at ITN, and sits about 20 feet away from my office. It's not really that great of a coincidence to run into him and his girlfriend several hundred miles from home, because we had talked about possible Thanksgiving trips and had agreed that the Black Canyon would be cool. But it still was fun to stop and chat with the two of them before they left for Fruita and I continued on to Warner Point. I'm kicking myself that I didn't take a picture, though. Bummer.

Despite my effort on the earlier run, I found that I was still able to jog with some pep when heading out to the last couple of vista points. The round-trip out to Warner Point was about a mile and a half, and I ran most of it, enjoying the solitude, the smell of the pines, and the joy of working up another sweat in such lovely surroundings. The pictures I took can't do justice to the majesty and scope of Nature's handiwork, but at least I can look at them and remember how much fun I had on my little adventure. Will I return to someday make the climb down into the canyon and back out? Yes, I think I will have to do that.

For now, though, I need to get going. I'll share the pictures and details from the remainder of my trip tomorrow, and then hope to resume normal inane bloggery by the end of the week. Thanks for dropping by, and have a great day!