Black canyons, Grand passings, good wine

Black Canyon blooms

The Black Canyon had not changed much since my first visit. Other than the ranger station and visitor center closures from the pandemic, the park was quiet on a Tuesday morning. The Painted Wall still looked spectacular, as expected. The Gunnison River murmurs more than 1,000 feet below the series of overlooks along the south rim. In most places the north rim looks tantalizingly close but requires another few hours of driving to reach. We took the Warner Point hike from the end of the park route to give Nancy that signature view of the full canyon. By the time we got back to the car, visitors were circling for spots because it had filled up.

Looking south from the Black Canyon

Soon we were back in Montrose and Delta with another place to climb above western Colorado. Cedaredge is the last town on Grand Mesa’s south side before it turns to forest. It’s a microclimate with its own fruit orchards and a quaint downtown. The Apple Shed, a local institution with multiple businesses and tasting rooms, was closed. But the rest of the town hummed along. We got a coffee, then began the climb to Grand Mesa.

Restaurant in Cedaredge

After Cedaredge, it’s all national forest, roads along the side of the mesa and blue-green lakes. If you’re seeking solitude, the Grand Mesa delivers, especially during the pandemic with its closed visitor center and empty campgrounds. We took a swing through a few campgrounds and fee areas where we didn’t feel like paying fees only to see a handful of cars. Land of Lakes overlook showed the number of deep lakes hidden on the mesa.

On this second trip, I again felt like I short-changed this mountain and its wild spaces. We drove down the road toward the observatory hoping for some wildlife encounters. We got marmot and some more mule deer, plus fields and fields of wildflowers freshly sprouting due to the altitude. The air defied summer, staying in the mid-50s and offering a relief that it would not once we reached Grand Junction. We swung through a campground while descending just to view the options. A few days before July 4, most were unoccupied but offered ample privacy on Grand Mesa’s northern flank. Since Nancy and I have spent better part of decade trying to spot a moose together, we gave up on that possibility early.

Beginning the Grand Mesa descent

The north side of Grand Mesa offers some of the best panoramic views anywhere. The 5,000-foot descent to the Colorado River is open to the canyonlands formed by the river. If you cannot see for 50 miles, you’re not trying hard enough. Every layer of ecosystem appears from mountaintop forest to dry desert canyon. Everyone visiting western Colorado experience that descent. It isn't dangerous or full of hairpin curves, just majestic. There’s no road that climbs anyway quite like that.

The mesa has some mild switchbacks, then the road takes up next to a creek and dips into a canyon with walls several hundred feet above the road. Where the creek meets the Colorado, we finally take on interstate, if only for a few miles west to Palisade. That’s the great part – after 500 or so miles away from the interstate, we only needed a few miles to find someplace magical off the highway.

In minutes we reached the eastern edge of Colorado’s wine country. Dozens of wineries of fruit orchards clustered around Palisade, and we could not have been happier. At first, I passed the Colterris Colorado River tasting room so we could explore the wineries and fruit plantations atop the plateau. Once up there, we ran into the main Colterris tasting room, and I decided we should just go there. Just because I drink their wine regularly shouldn’t be a reason to skip the tasting room. We each did a 7-wine taste and a single pour, then bought wines to bring home. I went with a single-vineyard Petit Verdot. I will drink it later, much later.

Palisade orchards

As we reached downtown Palisade, I had an idea for dinner. We had to visit 357 Bar and Grill for dinner or whatever meal they still served. The bar didn’t come close to the state-mandated 25 percent occupancy. The grand chicken-fried steak of last summer sat on a plate in front of me again. The first person who convinced me to try chicken-fried steak agreed that 357 cooked up a good one. I don’t eat them there very often, which makes me glad my Grand Valley trips have run about a year apart.

Grand Junction only failed in terms of nightlife. Almost everything closed at 9, some places by 8. We could not get a ride-share to downtown – attempts to reserve one found no cars available. I wasn’t driving down there, not with Grand Junction’s quirky streets (lots of fractions). Instead the night ended at Applebees (in fairness, Village Inn does not serve alcohol). At moments it felt to me like the Applebees at the end of the world. Cars on the interstate raced into the darkness of the west (well, Utah or the Colorado River canyons). The drinks were cheap and strong, the blondie was tasty and waiter was overly friendly. All of those are good things in my book.

Some might complain. I won’t. Even if Grand Junction retired early this night, it was still Grand Junction. I had taken a break from travels before, and the town always bore a special place for me. I stopped here on my first trip west of Ohio in June 1999, then again helping a friend move to Los Angeles four years later. One glance around the Grand Valley, and the town’s name feels apt – nothing could make it feel less magical.

Land of Lakes overlook, Grand Mesa National Forest