Long way to Ouray

From the top of Lizardhead Pass

A shorter route to Ouray existed. It was paved, and all we needed to do was turn back to Durango and head north. Short and simple.

Only it wasn't so simple. Red Mountain Pass scared me under optimal conditions. A narrow road connecting Telluride and Ouray, it was known for hairpin turns, narrow lanes and mountain conditions beyond most paved roads. I wanted no part of it, at least not on this trip.

I never even considered it, and my travel buddy Nancy concurred. The second I saw another road could wind over to Ouray and onto Grand Junction, I was sold on this other option. Leaving Mesa Verde, we intended to pursue the other pass. Later, Nancy’s cousin Alan would tell us that some folks travel into Utah to avoid the steep climbs and drops into Ouray County. That seemed a bit extreme but the passes in this part of Colorado don’t mess around. Along with the paved ones, there are a number of jeep roads that traverse the mountains. That terrain is not suited for a Scion XB, so they were not considered once.

Down from the heights of Mesa Verde, we headed toward Cortez briefly, the road sending us up a beautiful river valley more lush than anything else we’d seen in the dry southwest corner.

Dolores was wedged between its namesake river and a steep canyon wall. For miles beyond, there’s nothing but the river below and cliffs to the other side. It was a convenient spot to drop some postcards bound for points east. Rico passes in a few interesting blocks. Later we would find that Rico housed one of southwestern Colorado’s best restaurants. Once told, we knew immediately which building belonged to the bistro, as it was in the middle of a renovation.

More glances from Lizardhead Pass

Even more, because I liked it that much

From Rico the pass began to climb. We would soon crest another pass. The top of Lizardhead Pass was a high-mountain swatch of pure beauty. I could have spent the rest of my life at this place – well, every summer, since it gets crushed with many feet of snow every winter.

A campground sat just across the divide. I immediately imagined myself sleeping under the stars out here, beyond the influence of artificial light. The wind gusted at every point. I didn’t care. Rusty mountains soared to the east. The mountains here demanded respect.

“Only in a drive across Lizardhead shall he prove this worth” – with apologies to the tasks required to reach the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Lizardhead might have been less treacherous than Red Mountain Pass on the Million Dollar Highway, but the drive still had its challenges, especially its long descend toward Telluride and Placerville (soft “a” in case you wondered).

Ouray looking south

The road barreled downward again, this time stopping in Ridgway. We spared no time for Ridgway, moving into Ouray further up the Uncompahgre River (pronounce it as “Uncle Padre” and no one will question you).

I had few expectations for Ouray but it immediately surpassed any. The cliff loomed high above Main Street. Despite the pandemic and a mandatory mask rule for the county the streets swarmed with people, the hot springs were at pandemic capacity, the hotels flush with visitors. The town boasted three breweries in the span of a few blocks. I didn’t catch a glimpse of the county courthouse where True Grit and other movies were filmed, but Ouray felt wild enough to be the filming site for many westerns.

Alan runs the Sock Mine, a store that sells all styles of funky footwear along Ouray’s main drag. Along with some gift socks, I got a pair of Breaking Bad socks for the winter months.

As Alan shut down for the day, he directed us across the street to Grumpy Pants Brewery, the newest of Ouray’s three breweries. Acquiring a beer was simpler, to a point. Bang a gong for the number of beers you wanted, or expect leers from the staff working within.

We went for a second round, and the hatch for beers was closed, the gong pulled inside the taproom. Mr. Grumpy Pants had left the building. So we walked to a pizzeria, had another round, then took some pizzas off to Alan’s house. 

Looking up in Ouray

The road climbed from Ridgway, pavement stopping at some point. By then we had reached the wooded mountaintop. From his house we had easy glimpses of mountains. Envious views of the Cimarron Mountains and the San Juan Mountains emerged. On this night, storm after storm rolled over the ranges. Ouray County’s only 14’er, Mount Sneffels, rose jaggedly to the south, rains pelting it above the treeline.

Alan gave us a welcome respite from the road. Sitting on a mountaintop, with higher mountaintops in most directions was as restful a place as I’ve experienced in Colorado. Alan advised us to pull out any food because the bears could be drawn to my car. I grabbed a packet of almonds and almost contemplated sprinkling them on the ground, knowing such a feast would draw wildlife.

Who can forget Buster?

While Nancy and her cousin caught up, I excused myself for the night. A day of winding Mesa Verde drives, mountain passes and tailgating Jeeps helped me enjoy the chance to sleep somewhere pitch black, my last thoughts influenced by talking above me before a dive into blackness hours deep. When a storm rolled over us, I was already asleep and noticed no impact till my first step onto the porch in the morning.

In the morning, Grand Mesa emerged from the haze that hid it the night before. The giant flat-topped mountain awaited, even if a few spots necessarily preceded it.

I looked down at my car. The black bears had spared it and not turned it into a convertible while searching for food in the night.

Evening view from Ridgway