Highs and lows of Colorado roads

Collegiate Peaks at sunrise

Mt. Princeton and the Chalk Cliffs

Odds weighed against an early start. I worked late on Friday, and I projected a 4 a.m. start would get me out to northwest Colorado by early afternoon. 

Tough as it was, I made it out. Teller County zipped by in the dark. Some early daylight framed Pikes Peak as I crossed Wilkerson Pass and bade it goodbye for a few days. Gloomy, emerging light desaturated South Park in a year when the grasses and mountain plains ran green. Morning could no longer go ignored along the Collegiate Peaks. Cars were so few that I didn’t care. I remembered how much I loved mountain time in the early hours, when few stirred. 

Just shy of Monarch Pass’ top, a mother mule deer and her speckled twins stood along the roadside then dashed away. The lot atop the pass was surprisingly full for 6:30 a.m., and some activity on the road signaled some kind of race. I just embraced the winding descent, waiting for the lovely moment Monarch was completely behind me. At the pass, I logged the lowest temperature of the trip, a comforting 45 degrees. By Grand Junction, the temperature would double. 

 I didn’t see another car until Gunnison and only a few at its lone stoplight on U.S. 50. I forgot how quickly Gunny slips away once one grows familiar with its few blocks. Rains had fallen into summer here as well; once dry fields were flush with green grasses.  

Green, green Gunnison County

The rolling Gunnison

Blue Mesa solitude

For once, I decided to take a walking break at Curacanti National Recreation Area. The trails never close. I picked the Neversink Trail, a flat stretch along the Gunnison River flush with birds. The Gunnison waters surged toward the placid reservoir a few miles downsteam. Anyone who tumbled into those waters would have slim chances of coming out alive. 

 A few miles up the waters eased into an arm of Blue Mesa Reservoir. When last I saw it, Blue Mesa was 20 percent full and almost back to a river. Heavy snows in the high country had swollen to the reservoir to its old size. The blue waters were placid below the craggy desert peaks.

Seeing the crowds at 9 a.m., I decided a quick look at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison would suffice. I bypassed Montrose and Delta to hurry onto Dinosaur. 

Black Canyon

All signs of human life drop away past Loma, the last town of any size before the Utah border. Little did I know what the map showed as a simple scene drive would turn a little hair-raising at Douglas Pass. 

Colorado Route 139’s 72 miles constitute all of Douglas Pass Road, which connects Loma to Rangely and has almost no intersections of note. The road wound through rangeland and green hills of the Book Cliffs. The map showed a pass and gave no details. Douglas Pass itself, where the road crosses the Book Cliffs, is more much intimidating than passes that rise several thousand feet higher. The route parallels the Colorado-Utah border through pretty, isolated country. But the pass stands out. The switchbacks and hairpin turns come up quickly. 

But the slow speeds and winding road weren’t what caught my attention. I looked up on the mountain above me. Sunlight glinted off a slow-moving car near the top of that peak. With no nearby roads, I knew where the pass was headed and took a few deep breaths. I crossed it fine, giving some other driver a warning when the sun reflected off my car. Despite spectacular views to the south, I had zero desire to stop. Only Dinosaur occupied my mind. 

Racing toward the Book Cliffs

Easy climbing on Douglas Pass Road

I didn’t encounter another northbound car until Rangely, the road’s end and a prime fishing spot along the White River. Below the pass, several 18-wheelers chugged south as if it were any other road. I assumed they would make it up those hairpin turns, but didn’t want to be around to be proven wrong. I did miss out on multiple sites from the Canyon Pintado National Historic District, a BLM-operated site containing petroglyphs up to 900 years old. Across 15 miles, the district offers numerous site. Next time I will know better and stop. Better yet, I’ll start closer to northwest Colorado so I don’t log seven hours of driving before reaching the canyon sites. 

Rangely drifts by in a single long street. To fair, everyplace feels a little dusty and worn in a July heatwave. The river holds most of the town’s majesty. Dinosaur was even smaller, barely a few blocks before the turn into Utah. 

South from Meeker

Rangely got a second view on the way east when I didn’t feel like another spin on Douglas Pass. The Kenney Reservoir sat east of town. In a train of cars, I was only one not to turn into the reservoir, and I would not see another car headed toward Meeker for 40 miles. I could have turned- the reservoir was beautiful, a teardrop of deep water below soaring red cliffs. I never saw Meeker, since the road south turns off south of town. 

I enjoyed a nice, rolling drive toward Rifle before encountering a clusterfuck of a construction zone about 10 miles north of town. The one-lane road had a timed traffic light on weekends. About 10 cars got through on each green. That would be fine if there weren’t several cars lined up. I had about 10 cars ahead of me, and nearly 45 minutes elapsed before I tailgated the car in front of me to ensure I did not get stuck again. Rifle I skipped as well, since these days it’s best known for a member of Congress I have no interest in naming. 

After that construction zone, I had no stomach for the massive weekday delays. For once, I would skip the mountain route and take the interstate to Frisco and Breckenridge, cross Hoosier Pass and go home across South Park. 

 As the tight section of Interstate 70 east of Glenwood Springs loomed, the No Name rest area came up. No Name and I have a little history. Despite four years as a Colorado resident, I had not driven I-70 through the mountains. 

Goodbye to the Grand Valley

I had not stopped at the No Name rest area in 20 years, when I passed through with my friend Alicia. In 1999, I stopped here when helping my friend Heather move to Las Vegas. It’s a good place to stretch your legs and wander along the banks of the Colorado River. 

I walked down to the Colorado, moving rapidly and rushing away from the mountains. Signs warned people not to park at No Name and take the pedestrian path over the Hanging Lake, the scenic spot that now requires a hard-to-acquire permit. A few cyclists buzzed past. People sat in their cars, tapping furiously on their phones and tablets. 

 I had the river and the mountains, giving them a rare unguarded moment to speak to me. Even in the shadow of the interstate, I could claim a few moments of solitude in a beautiful vista.

The mighty Colorado River