A never-dull drive

You can get back to Colorado Springs in just five hours taking the interstate. But every chance I get, I opt for U.S. 50. The drive takes an hour longer, but the scenery and lack of traffic make it worth the extra time. Rather than write up the route that feels like second nature, I'll just offer my road pictures from that quiet Sunday. 

Dawn behind Grand Mesa

Farm ads in Delta

More farm ads in Delta

Blue Mesa Reservoir on the Gunnison

Blue Mesa looking east

The roaring Gunnison

Gunnison on the Neversink Trail

Don't fall in the Gunnison. 

Approaching Monarch Pass.

Eastern view atop Monarch Pass. 

Mountains south of Salida from the Arkansas Valley

A night along the Colorado, below the cliffs

Campsite looking south.

Campsite looking north.

Rio Colorado in DeBeque Canyon.

I coasted into the Grand Valley. Despite wanting to set up my tent, shower and unwind with a few beers, I had not crossed Grand Junction in almost two years, mostly due to a bridge closure on U.S.50. 

With the heat pushing 100, I scurried into the Lowell School for a Belgian-style wheat beer at Gemini Beer Company. My often-planned night in downtown Grand Junction would remain a dream. 

I wanted to eat somewhere in downtown Grand Junction but felt the pull of tradition. I headed east to the doorstep of my last stop. 

Yet again, I ended up in Palisade at the 357 Bar and Grill for a burger and some ice teas. The quiet bar in downtown Palisade was the decompression I needed. Other spots called to me – the tasting rooms, fruit stands, boutique stores – but I already crossed the desert for a campsite. 

In the morning, I would take the slow route back, crossing U.S. 50 all the way to Canon City, across Monarch Pass, through Delta, Montrose, Gunnison, and Salida. 

First, I had a last night under the stars and an enviable campsite to relish. James M. Robb Colorado River State Park covers five units from Fruita to Island Acres, the latter sitting east of Palisade in DeBeque Canyon along the river. 

My day end at Island Acres, the unit which turned out better than I could imagine. Island Acres is wedged between the river and its steep cliffs. 

A few miles past Palisade, the exit has a gas station and access to Island Acres, nothing else. A brick visitor center sits along a tree-lined casting pond. 

The sun already passed the canyon, and the cliffs hundreds of feet above the Colorado River shielded us from the remains of the day. The heat immediately backed off. I set up camp, put up my feet, and read a few pages while I cooled down. 

After a shower and a few sips from a huckleberry beer, I walked on the riverfront path. Island Acres has no boat launch due to a small dam upstream that produces dangerous currents. 

But the high cliffs and proximity to the river more than compensate. Less than 100 feet from my campsite, I could walk along the Colorado. I have spent surprisingly little time on this river, so It was fitting that I could make its acquaintance at a spot as scenic as Island Acres. 

Outside of some small talk across the tent section, I didn’t talk to anyone. The tent-only section had a parking lot and a half-dozen lots. 

Despite a full campground, no one occupied the two sites next to mine. I felt civilization peel way at other stops, but here I just felt the beauty of relaxation so close to civilization. The river coursed by, the canyon cliffs loomed, and I unwound. Sometimes watching the way the light plays on the cliff faces is enough. 

I strolled along the Colorado path, then along the fishing pond path, and somehow avoided getting mauled by the local mosquitoes. Once again, I stayed up far later than my fatigue should have allowed. I had no campfire, but as I saw the neighboring fires dwindle, sleepiness finally took hold. 

Earlier I couldn’t properly stake the tent. The ground on the tent pad was harder than concrete. That would suffice until 2 a.m., when the wind kicked up and the tent tried to move away with me inside. For once I was thankful for the extra pounds, as I held still. 

I tossed in and out of sleep until 4 a.m., which the first hints of light helped me crawl out and start tearing down camp. Island Acres had grown so quiet that I could hear the river as I packed up. I hadn’t wish to bid goodbye this early, but the urge for going arrives quickly when camping. 

I took a pass through the full campground and looked forward to the sunrise erupting sometime before I hit Montrose. Meantime, I cherished my few hours at Island Acres, where nature does all the heavy lifting. The cliffs, the daylight, and the river supplied all the majesty anyone needed.

Fishing pond at first light.

Early departure. 

Golden Spike, scenic canyons

The dry, uninhabited mountains of northern Utah seem an odd location for a momentous occasion. Along with mountains covered in light vegetation, a rocket facility and a massive solar panel farm are among the only residents. 

But almost 160 years ago, this country was the home to a monumental shift in the United States. The meeting of Leland Stanford’s Central Pacific Railroad (from Sacramento) and Thomas Durant’s Union Pacific Railroad (from Omaha) ushered in the post-Civil War settlement of the West. 

With the connection of the two lines, everything changed. The march on Manifest Destiny would not abate until the 1890s, when the frontier was declared closed. The continent was spanned. The wagon train era ended immediately. The great herd of bison was divided. 

Settlers backed by the Homestead Act poured into Indian territory, ignoring that they were given land upon which people already lived. The trains also brought U.S. Army troops and resupplied forts more quickly, leading them to force most tribes onto reservations within the decade. That history is unbreakably tied to the transcontinental railroad’s connection. 

Work on both railroads began in 1862, with the Civil War slowing progress significantly until 1865. 

With the war over and soldiers from both sides returning to civilian life, the railroad brought opportunity for many. The Central Pacific was heavy on Chinese laborers, while the Union Pacific included war veterans, European immigrants, and freedman, recently emancipated slaves. 

Golden Spike site

The following four years included Indian raids, especially on the Union Pacific, and tent towns that follow the Union Pacific across its route. 

The moving town was known as Hell on Wheels, offering railroad workers every sin imaginable – salons, gambling parlors, brothels, and more. There were churches and other services that travelled along. Some tent towns sprouted actual routes, with Cheyenne, Wyoming, and Reno, Nevada the best know. 

There's a five-season Hell on Wheels series that depicts a highly fictionalized version of the Union Pacifc march westward; it's a worthy pulp take on a historic period that often gets overlooked. 

 As for why Promontory Summit, the railroads began to put down competing lines, Congress declared this the location for the railroads to meet. 

 Even the Golden Spike site would only have a brief prime. The linkage occurred near a steep rise in the grade, which could take trains up to 36 hours to top. Multiple trestles were built to bring the railroad through the mountainous terrain. 

Eventual construction of a railroad causeway across the Great Salt Lake provided a faster route and resigned the Golden Spike location to history. 

The historic park reenacts the trains touching at this point. They pulled close enough to where the final golden spike could be driven. Dozens of people in 1860s outfits gather to replay when a railroad first spanned North America. Replica trains drew within one railroad tie of each other. Each performance drew a crowd to a spot far from modern travel routes. 

Solar farm below Promontory Summit

So many canyons
Looks like I picked the wrong day for any Salt Lake City exploration. 

Unreachable capitol

The downtown attractions were not for the casual. Temple Square, head of the LDS Church, is under renovation through 2027. I thought I might sneak up for a walk around the state capitol, but its peaceful perch on a hill outside the downtown skyline hid its inaccessibility. 

Auto traffic to the capitol was shut off for the tens of thousands of protestors out for No Kings demonstrations. Sidewalks were thick with people, volumes I could not have anticipated for a place as conservative as Utah. I would not reach the capitol, and chose another course.

The Great Salt Lake region is largely smushed into the lower elevations between the Wasatch Mountains and the Great Salt Lake and other remnants of Lake Bonneville, which once covered the much of western Utah. The Great Salt Lake, Utah Lake, and Sevier Lake are all remnants of Lake Bonneville, which formed during a wetter age in Utah. 

The rivers that form in the Wasatch Range flow into the Salt Lake metro through steep, scenic canyons. I ended up in American Fork Canyon, which look remarkably similar to Logan Canyon from two days earlier. But I only had to trek a short distance up the American Fork Canyon. The canyons is a major recreation destination, with bikers, hikers, and runners occupying the canyon’s tree-filled lower reaches. 

American Fork Canyon approach

American Fork Canyon

American Fork Canyon

I stopped at the visitor center for Timpanogos Cave National Monument, which thankfully sold out its tours for the day. Reaching the cave tour requires a 3-mile roundtrip hike up to its mountain entrance. If reservations remained, it would have pushed my stopping point in western Colorado past dark. This cave requires a larger time commitment than most, so I knew I would have to try again.

 From the town of Spanish Fork, the road runs up the Wasatch Plateau above the Spanish Fork River. No interstate directly connects Salt Lake City and Denver, leaving U.S. 6 as the most direct access. While it cuts through some high country, the route thankfully bypasses the San Rafael Swell, the scenic but townless stretch of I-70 west of Green River. 

The road peaks at Soldier Summit before becoming subordinate to the wrinkles and turns of rugged Price Canyon. The lush green canyons along the Wasatch Front give away the red rock associated with Utah's river-carved national parks.  Price Canyon receives protection from the BLM as Price Canyon Recreation Area. I had eyes on my campsite outside the Grand Valley, and pushed through the towns of Helper, Carbonville, and Price. 

The last 50 miles to Green River were flat, windy and arid, brightened only by the arrival of the Book Cliffs to the southeast. At Woodside the Price River appears one more time before crossing into the canyonlands where it joins with the Green River. 

The last stretch might have been flat, but mt thoughts still funneled through canyons, too much history and scenic spots to digest this quickly.

Spanish Fork 

Near Soldier Summit, I think

Price Canyon

Price Canyon

Chasing shadows in the City of Rocks

Daylight at City of Rocks

The road had the effect of peeling away layers of civilization, like progressing through these mountains would hold the world’s worries at bay, if only for one night. 

Getting out there was not complicated. I weaved through a few small towns and mountains ranges before winding into the Upper Raft River Valley. Green mountains, plenty of farms and ranches, and no traffic weaved a tapestry of relaxation. The valley ahead held many surprises stemming from its signature granite rock formations known as the City of Rocks. 

Castle Rocks State Park

While well-known to the Shoshone peoples, the name City of Rocks sprang from the wagon train days, when the granite spires were a landmark on the California Trail. The wagon trains crossed Granite Pass into Nevada a short distance to the west. 

Bypassed by the railway and lightly settled by the ranchers, City of Rocks looks unchanged from its pioneer days, and remains the best-preserved section of the California Trail. 

Protections came piecemeal. The Idaho Legislature protected a separate parcel of the same geology in 1957 as Castle Rocks State Park. While on federal land, the rest of City of Rocks received protection as a national reserve in 1988 to allow practices like hunting and cattle grazing that other park designations would forbid. Today the Idaho Department of Parks and Recreation administers both sites. 

Outside of the granite crags, the valley was not flush with shade. A few creeks emerged from the mountains, and provided enough water to fill the fishing pond at the state park. I decided to start at Castle Rocks since my day pass expired that night. 

Along with the signature rocks, the park crafted an oasis rich with bird species I didn’t normally encounter. With more than 120 species found in late May and early June, the Almo and Upper Raft valleys are known for birding. 

The Albion Mountains offer migratory birds a respite between the Snake River Plain and the northern reaches of the Great Salt Lake. I received a healthy dose of birdsong at the pond and the park’s granite monoliths. 

Castle Rocks residents

Castle Rocks pond

As I circled the pond of pair of killdeers stayed 10 feet ahead of me the entire loop. Common waterfowl honked and grazed across the pond. Even out here, there was no escape from Canadian geese. A little island gave the myriad species a protected place for their nests. 

The hills were rich with wildflowers and pollinators, with bees and butterflies moving about. I did not spot the apex avian predator of the valley, the golden eagle, which can have territory of 60 square miles. 

I spent some time with the cattle lounging, although one cow was none too fond of me observing her three calves. The cows have replaced the bison, who would have grazed here till they were wiped out locally in the 1870s. Other than their absence, the valley felt remarkably untouched. The more time I spent here, the more relaxation seeped in. 

Campsite view

 Lodging around Almo is scarce outside campgrounds. The two public campgrounds at City of Rock and Castle Rocks fill quickly, but two private operators run ample campgrounds near the turn for City of Rocks Road. The campsite was at the far end of the campground, several spots from anyone else. 

I had an enviable view of Castle Rocks and cooler of Idaho beer. But I also had a total lack of shade.  I spent the late afternoon reading in the shadow of my car, accompanied by the wind gusts and kids playing in the campground. An eternity passed before the shadows lengthened. Following the afternoon in the dust, I had access to a brand-new shower installed by the campground owners.

Clean by sunset, I finally sat at my site's picnic table and watched the Milky Way slowly pop into view as the light waned.  

I repeated my Craters of the Moon strategy with City of Rocks, waiting till morning for my main visit. At this hour I could feel what it would have been like for the Shoshone and the wagon trains. The birds and insects struck up an hour before first light. 

Twilight campsite view

The light softly arrived from the east, slowly illuminating the granite garden tucked into the mountains. I rolled slowly down the park road, no worries about bothering anyone. 

I didn’t venture far off the main road, as City of Rocks infrastructure leans on narrow, high-clearance dirt roads. The reserve is best known for its climbing routes, and it’s long been decided I best stay firmly on the ground. 

Gradually light crept upon the granite formations. Evidence of the past emerged. People wrote their names in axle grease on several remarkable monoliths, most notably on Camp Rock, the common overnight stop in City of Rocks. 

All roads south turned to dirt at City of Rocks Road. I had to retrace my path north then jog east. I didn't mind one last ride through the Upper Raft; it crafting a relaxing scene at any hour. 

The churning fire of sunrise prepared to rise above the mountains. Something unfamiliar vaulted int the road – a western spotted skunk. Its poofy tail and white marbling on its black fur made it seem alien in this quiet country. Moving no faster than an opossum, I braked hard as the skunk ignored me and crossed back into the shelter of the sagebrush.

Trail markings

Homestead ruins