Boulder Co, to Gunnison Co – 212 miles
The fun starts at the Avis desk at Denver Airport. The cheerful lady behind the desk lobs car keys in my direction a little too cheerfully. I pick them up from the floor and for some unknown reason actually apologise for my incompetence at not being catcher of the year.
I head off to find our car and seconds later I’m back at the desk. “I think you’ve given me the wrong vehicle” I stutter humbly. She doesn’t even blink “Nope, that’s your car. Have a nice trip !”. Now, I’m not a car enthusiast but even I can tell the difference between a Mazda CX5 and Toyota 4 Runner. It’s about $15,000 dollars on most forecourts, so as I free-climb into the driver’s seat with difficulty, although pleased with my multiple upgrade, there is a nagging doubt in my mind about my sudden elevated status with the rental company.
The eventual outcome of which, when we get home, is I’m charged for both cars and it takes nearly three months to get resolved. However, that’s in the future as I tackle the various dashboard controls in front of me. I’m sure Apollo 13 didn’t have as many knobs and dials to deal with.
Our overnight accommodation near Boulder is a Scottish themed pub and motel. My thinking had been we would ease our way into the American way of life before full immersion. It turns out to be more Scottish than our local pub, without the accents of course. At the adjacent table is Bartender Ron giving a talk to a young American couple on all things Scottish Whisky. Listening in, I learn a lot, which I’m not ashamed about because I’m not a big fan of the “water of life”. Ron’s side-line seems to be charging people for a half hour lesson accompanied by a large map of Scotland which he struggles to hold upright. He is knowledgeable enough to know where John O’Groats is at the top, eventually grappling the board into position. I think many a Scotsman has had the same problem after a few malts, even without a map. Ron is a generous soul, giving much of his time to us, talking about his love for Scotland, all of which is made a lot more interesting by offering us a couple of Lagavulin’s on the house. Easing into our road trip the Scottish way wasn’t such a bad idea after all!
I’ve always preferred Boulder to Denver. After all it is a University town, and less formal than its big brother down the road. There is nothing wrong with Denver of course, it can still take your breath away. That’s mainly due to the high altitude, but the mile-high city has many other attractions according to Colorado.com. I love their description of this adventurous city. “With 300 days of sunshine, diverse neighbourhoods, a thriving arts and culture scene, chef-driven dining………” and so on. Wait a minute. Chef-driven? Aren’t all restaurants around the world chef-driven? Don’t you just love American-speak. I appreciate it does suggest expensive, so Macdonalds might not quite reach that category, where the lad cooking a sausage and egg McMuffin is looking forlornly out of the window in the full knowledge that the spaces in the car park opposite are earning more per hour than he is. But chef-driven – really?
A walk round Boulder’s town centre reveals the Dushanbe Teahouse which is so out of place it attracts curiosity, not just for its tea but also for it’s wonderful interior. Not too many Tajikstani’s are in evidence in Boulder, but apparently the Mayor of Dushanbe, which is the capital of Tajikstan, visited in 1987 and chose to gift the city the Teahouse which was made by forty artisans who created the stunning decorative walls and ceiling. Which begs the question, what did Boulder gave Dushanbe in return. A boulder maybe?
Before we left the UK, we’d been worried about my partner’s ability to cope with the Rocky Mountain drive at high altitude, as she was impacted in her childhood by a lung condition which continues to this day. So much so that I had been in conversation with a specialist altitude doctor I’d found on the internet who lived in Ouray in Colorado in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. Like all good doctors he gave me a heap of information, and like all good doctors finished off by saying. “It can affect different people in different ways”. That’s good. I’m now a mine of information and no further forward. Apparently, anything above 3,000 ft can cause problems for people, and since we were heading over a few 10,000ft mountain passes over the next few days this was a conundrum. So, to avoid me being partnerless by the time we got to other side of the mountains, we went in search of a cannister of oxygen.
The inside of Dicks Sporting Goods Store is somewhat more breath-taking than our Teahouse. Not in an architectural sense, just that we have to trek miles of rails, racks, rudimentary camping equipment and a rash of outerwear, where it became almost impossible to find a 10 inch canister of air. However, Bill jumps up from behind the counter and comes to our rescue. A big husky guy, he shouts to John that he may be gone sometime. He reminds me of Scott of Antartica, without the snowboots, as he wanders off into the bowels of the store. He duly finds what we’re looking for and hands me over to his colleague Jack who takes my credit card, and we joke about the need for oxygen on thick carpets. I think he’d heard that one before. I don’t have the heart to ask Bill, John and Jack, if Dick only employs people with four letters in their name. They were too nice. I’ve never bought air before, as it’s always been plentiful and free, but it might just be the best twenty dollars we’ve ever spent.
Leaving Boulder, “Great Scotty’s Eatery” attracts us for breakfast. Well, the name did. Despite sitting on Route 287, it is a typical Route 66 Diner, and although Scotty is nowhere to be seen it is a great find. Four sides of French toast, some vegetable hash, four eggs and four rashers of bacon with unlimited coffee later, we’re on our way. That order wasn’t all for me I should point out as I would never have been able to climb back into the vehicle-of-not-my-choice. We’ve hardly gone a mile and I find an Autoshop outlet to buy a phone holder for the dashboard. Having just opened, I am surprised to see four old boys running around re-stocking the half-a-dozen aisles who look as though they’d hadn’t been home for weeks. They are all sporting ZZ Top-like beards and damn me if one isn’t called Luke and another called Ryan. Two more four letter names. Does Colorado have legislation banning new-born from having any more than four letters to their name?
With purchase in one hand, a bearded one shook my other hand. “Nice to do business with ya’, you come back and see us all soon now. My name’s Ryan Jack, and I’m here to help”. For god’s sake, now it’s four-letter surname’s!
We manage 25 miles on the I93 before detouring just outside the town of Golden and head up Lookout Mountain in search of Buffalo Bill’s Grave and Museum. This place shouldn’t be missed as it is a fascinating insight into this legendary figure and the old Wild West days. Again, we find a Scottish connection, because in 1904 he took his Wild West show to the UK and visited various small towns around the country, including many around the city of my birth Glasgow, which in its own way is known as Scotland’s wild west, especially on Saturday nights so he would have felt right at home.
A few miles down the road, and we’re stopping again. This time to test the impeccable acoustics and naturally stunning marvel of the ochre sandstone of the Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Higher than Niagara Falls the place echoes to the sound of hundreds of musicians who have performed here. Thankfully for other visitors I’m not allowed onstage to emulate the stars that have graced the boards over the years. I forgot to perform my vocal warm-up that morning, so clearly a missed opportunity, and a probable loss to America’s Got Talent.
Towns and settlements pass by with imaginative names like Conifer, Will-o-the-Wisp, Shawnee and Fairplay, with captivating scenery everywhere we look. Fair play to Fairplay, the town has the added attraction of a brewery although apparently with only 750 residents to speak of, maintaining the bar and brewery seems to require a lot of passing trade. This in turn means there are a lot of drivers out there who have had a drink, so a little later as we edge out of Fairplay suitably fed, we treat every other driver with suspicion for the next fifty miles!
We’re heading for our overnight stop in Gunnison but have the little matter of negotiating the 11,313 foot Monarch Mountain Pass first, a winding, twisting steep climb over the Continental Divide, prone to poor weather even in spring. The original road was built in 1880 about two miles further north, and as we edge over the summit, we can’t help think about the resilence and ingenuity of those who created this striking mountain highway. I feel high on the wonder around us, although that might just be the elevation talking. The run down the mountain is slow easy, as sunshine covers the huge valley in front of us, and distant rain clouds hang over the snow-covered Rockies ominously poised to unleash their watery cargo. Rain for some people, is a four-letter word, but for me it’s nature at its best, offering recovery, cleansing the hillsides and stimulating growth again. The water of life is not just whisky. The canister of oxygen lies untouched the whole trip so maybe it wasn’t the best $20 I’ve spent. Doctor Altitude was right after all. It affects different people in different ways.
We roll into Gunnison and re-fuel. The young lad behind the counter is fascinated by my UK driver’s licence. “Never seen one, probably never will again !” he shouts at me over the roar of the coffee machine. He takes out his cell-phone and takes a photo of it. He is so enthralled I don’t have the heart to tell him that’s not a good thing to do. However, I don’t make an issue of it as he is so amused. Guilty pleasures. I figure it’s highly unlikely he is going to hack into the DVLA database in the UK. Although a little later I thought if he shows the licence to the local sheriff I’ll be on the next wanted list, because I definitely resemble a criminal in the photo.
We check into the “Inn at Tomichi Village” – which on a scale of one to ten is a maybe. Room ok, breakfast nah, although it’s a pleasant enough place on the edge of town. The centre of Gunnison has a busy four-way crossroads, but go a 100 yards in each direction and you are almost out of town. However, gems can be found if you look hard enough and as we slide into a booth at the little Pizza Place, we are served by a delightful girl in tight shorts. Maybe Hooters chose not to open a place way out here and this is the Gunnison version, but at least the pizza is good! For Hooters afficionados, I am aware that they don’t serve pizzas, it just fitted with the description…….
212 miles today