It's about 1:30 p.m. by the time we've finally reached Idaho Springs, CO, where we're hoping to drive up another mountain. (Why? Why not?)
Despite the cloudiness of the day (it looks like it's been raining), when we get to the turnoff, the sign says the road to Mount Evans is open. Yay! So now, after that long drive descending down from Rocky Mountain National Park, we're now driving back up again. Up and up. As you might imagine, it's a bit of a circuitous road, with a lot of switchbacks.
Surprisingly, there are many private residences on the way, and then there's a state park (Echo Lake) even higher up the road. It's just past the state park where you access the road up to the peak, which is a pay zone. To our surprise, they accept National Park Passes. Whoo hoo! It's a free ride for us today! The ranger does warn us that they do have a lightning warning in effect; we won't know if we'll be able to get out of our car until we get to the top. Fingers crossed and off we go.
If you're deathly afraid of heights, the road to Mount Evans is not for you. It's the highest road in North America, topping out at 14,264 feet. It's a narrow road, with no guard rails, and wow, some of the roadside dropoffs are extreme. Although I know we'd both die if the vehicle went over, I feel the need to keep reminding Stephen to "be careful" whenever I'm sitting on the outside edge. In some spots, I visualize the X-Terra rolling downhill like a crunchy silver ball. Other spots, I see us taking out a huge swath of trees before sliding off a cliff. And then, when creeping around some of the blind curves, I wonder if there might not be some dumbass coming around the curve just a little further out than he should be, and if he so much as taps us, then down we'd go.
Of course, none of that happened, which you already know, since you're reading this, and I don't have a data plan that extends beyond the grave. So, back to the drive:
As the road heads upward, we eventually climb above the treeline and it's all just rocks and some tiny, tough plants. Then it's very easy to see where the road is winding along the edges of these rocky slopes. It's slow going - the posted speed limit is really low, and most drivers don't seem inclined to go very fast, anyway. No one wants to slide off the road, especially after it's been raining.
There are a few lakes up there, probably from run off. And then the road abruptly got rougher. There was a surprise bump - we were driving along, and ~whoomp!~ all the heavy packed luggage in the back is suddenly airborne for a moment. Whoa! Hadn't been expecting that. Now THAT is a bump in the road.
The last ascent got even slower. We rounded a corner to find a sudden traffic jam. "What's the problem?" I ask. Stephen says, "There's a mountain goat." And so there is. There's a mountain goat standing right in the middle of the road, stopping cars and cyclists*. He's quite undisturbed by everyone standing around him. He looks around, poses for a few pictures, and then hops up onto the rocks and goes on his way.
When we get to the top, there's a little building called Crest House (with no roof! I'm not sure what it's there for), a few informational signs, and a rocky trail to the peak (that you have to climb on foot).
We go, we pose, we get that creepy crawly feeling that you get in your stomach when you are standing a little too close to certain doom. Stephen and I wandered around for a while up there until the clouds started moving in, and (not wanting to get hit by lightning), we started on the way down. Several marmots posed for pictures (we've seen more wildlife on these roads than in the national parks).
It was about five minutes later that it started raining, and then it started turning into sleet (oh great! icy mountain road!).
The visitor centre is much lower down, in the treeline (probably to avoid lightning strikes), so we popped in there for a few minutes to look at the displays, and I even wandered around in their garden out back, but it was a short stop, as the rain was still coming down.
It's well past 5 in the afternoon by the time we've finally got down from Mount Evans and are back in Idaho Springs, gassing up the vehicle. Although Stephen had suggested we stay in Grand Junction (CO), I want to drive into Moab (UT) tonight, even though it's 5 hours away, which means we'd be getting in late. We're always a little too far out of the parks we want to visit, which means we waste time in transit, get there late, and then are too far behind to get to our next location.
Stephen's not sure, because Moab is literally in the middle of nowhere - there's nothing else in the area, so if there are no rooms, we're screwed (although we do have a tent, if all else fails). In the end, we call the Adventure Inn in Moab (where we stayed last time), book a room, and we're good to go.
Now it's a long drive down the I70 into Utah. On the positive side, it's listed as a scenic route, which we'll enjoy, for as long as the daylight holds out (about 8 p.m.).
Despite the cloudiness of the day (it looks like it's been raining), when we get to the turnoff, the sign says the road to Mount Evans is open. Yay! So now, after that long drive descending down from Rocky Mountain National Park, we're now driving back up again. Up and up. As you might imagine, it's a bit of a circuitous road, with a lot of switchbacks.
Surprisingly, there are many private residences on the way, and then there's a state park (Echo Lake) even higher up the road. It's just past the state park where you access the road up to the peak, which is a pay zone. To our surprise, they accept National Park Passes. Whoo hoo! It's a free ride for us today! The ranger does warn us that they do have a lightning warning in effect; we won't know if we'll be able to get out of our car until we get to the top. Fingers crossed and off we go.
If you're deathly afraid of heights, the road to Mount Evans is not for you. It's the highest road in North America, topping out at 14,264 feet. It's a narrow road, with no guard rails, and wow, some of the roadside dropoffs are extreme. Although I know we'd both die if the vehicle went over, I feel the need to keep reminding Stephen to "be careful" whenever I'm sitting on the outside edge. In some spots, I visualize the X-Terra rolling downhill like a crunchy silver ball. Other spots, I see us taking out a huge swath of trees before sliding off a cliff. And then, when creeping around some of the blind curves, I wonder if there might not be some dumbass coming around the curve just a little further out than he should be, and if he so much as taps us, then down we'd go.
Of course, none of that happened, which you already know, since you're reading this, and I don't have a data plan that extends beyond the grave. So, back to the drive:
As the road heads upward, we eventually climb above the treeline and it's all just rocks and some tiny, tough plants. Then it's very easy to see where the road is winding along the edges of these rocky slopes. It's slow going - the posted speed limit is really low, and most drivers don't seem inclined to go very fast, anyway. No one wants to slide off the road, especially after it's been raining.
There are a few lakes up there, probably from run off. And then the road abruptly got rougher. There was a surprise bump - we were driving along, and ~whoomp!~ all the heavy packed luggage in the back is suddenly airborne for a moment. Whoa! Hadn't been expecting that. Now THAT is a bump in the road.
When we get to the top, there's a little building called Crest House (with no roof! I'm not sure what it's there for), a few informational signs, and a rocky trail to the peak (that you have to climb on foot).
We go, we pose, we get that creepy crawly feeling that you get in your stomach when you are standing a little too close to certain doom. Stephen and I wandered around for a while up there until the clouds started moving in, and (not wanting to get hit by lightning), we started on the way down. Several marmots posed for pictures (we've seen more wildlife on these roads than in the national parks).
It was about five minutes later that it started raining, and then it started turning into sleet (oh great! icy mountain road!).
The visitor centre is much lower down, in the treeline (probably to avoid lightning strikes), so we popped in there for a few minutes to look at the displays, and I even wandered around in their garden out back, but it was a short stop, as the rain was still coming down.
*Re: Cyclists. There were a lot of cyclists heading up and down Mount Evans. I was surprised at just how many of them were there. We'd also seen a lot the day before in Rocky Mountain National Park. Most of these people were (obviously) hard core cyclists. They're wearing the cycling gear, they've got the road racing bikes, and they're all made of sinew and muscle, with less than 0.5% body fat. Turns out, there's a bicycle race in Colorado starting tomorrow. Ah! That explains it.
When we were near the peak (at a billy goat traffic stop), we asked one of the cyclists on their way down how long it took them to get to the top of Mount Evans. "About three hours." Yikes. I wish. So that's what super-fit people look like.
It's well past 5 in the afternoon by the time we've finally got down from Mount Evans and are back in Idaho Springs, gassing up the vehicle. Although Stephen had suggested we stay in Grand Junction (CO), I want to drive into Moab (UT) tonight, even though it's 5 hours away, which means we'd be getting in late. We're always a little too far out of the parks we want to visit, which means we waste time in transit, get there late, and then are too far behind to get to our next location.
Stephen's not sure, because Moab is literally in the middle of nowhere - there's nothing else in the area, so if there are no rooms, we're screwed (although we do have a tent, if all else fails). In the end, we call the Adventure Inn in Moab (where we stayed last time), book a room, and we're good to go.
Now it's a long drive down the I70 into Utah. On the positive side, it's listed as a scenic route, which we'll enjoy, for as long as the daylight holds out (about 8 p.m.).
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