Monument Valley

After leaving Durango and the delightfully cool mornings in the San Juan mountains, it is a relatively short distance westbound on U. S. 160 to a jarringly abrupt change of scenery.  In the short 42 miles to Cortez, Colorado, we were finished with mountains and looking ahead to a foreboding and bleak landscape, almost devoid of vegetation.  We were a little uneasy leaving the security of Cortez, because we weren’t sure we would be seeing civilization again, based on what we were seeing ahead of us.


We decided to eat lunch at Cortez, stopping at a tiny mom-and-pop diner named Popillo’s.  I had a Navajo taco with some extremely tasty green chile sauce on top, and Sandy had a burger and fries.  All of it was cheap and delicious.  We sort of lingered over our meal, probably due to a subconscious uneasiness over what was “out there.”


We finally mustered our courage, and I took special note of the amount of diesel fuel showing on the gauge.  It was nearly full, as I had refueled in Durango, and I had already calculated that I should have plenty of fuel to reach Monument Valley.  Nevertheless, Sandy questioned me several times about the fuel supply, nervous Nellie that she is about such things.  After several reassurances, I finally talked her into giving me the keys.  (Not really.) 


Since we were about to enter no-man’s land, we decided we didn’t have enough provisions!  I should modify that to, “we didn’t have enough JUNK FOOD provisions.”  Now bear in mind that Homer’s refrigerator and pantry contained sufficient foodstuffs to take us to Monument Valley even at wagon train speed, but we were very uncomfortably low on carbs!  A stop at a local corner mart solved that problem, as I picked up a collection of favorite “sin” foods and, for Sandy, a glass of iced tea large enough to fill a wading pool.  With this in mind, I felt lucky that Homer’s restroom was following along behind us. 


We past by the Four Corners area (where the states of Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Utah join at their respective corners), but the actual marker was not accessible due to construction.  This wasn’t particularly bothersome, because we had visited this place before when Mindy was a kid, and we took her photo lying at the four corners marker with her hands and feet all in different states. 
After four corners, the landscape became even more barren, with the ribbon that was Highway 160 stretched straight ahead as far as the eye could see.  There was no cell phone signal, of course, and Sandy was getting increasingly fidgety.  She turned toward me, her eyebrows a little higher than usual, and said:

“Do you suppose there are any buzzards out here?”
“Why do you ask?,” I replied.
“I was just wondering how long our carcasses would last for identification purposes.”

Bless her heart; Sandy really hates desolate, isolated spaces, and she is a trooper for enduring all she does to satisfy my wanderlust.


After what seemed like a week in suspended animation, we finally reached Kayenta, Arizona and our turn onto Highway 163 to take us to Monument Valley.  We filled up with fuel, of course, and I thought Sandy would hug the diesel pump at any minute.


After refueling, we set off on the final leg, and it wasn’t long until the unmistakable buttes of Monument Valley appeared before us, instantly recognizable from countless photographs.  This was the fulfillment of a bucket list item for me, and there truly is nothing like “being there.”  The movies and photos just don’t due justice to the grandeur and breathtaking vastness of this area.  Of course, one has to appreciate the clear desert air that allows the impossibly long vistas, resulting in unrealistically long travel times to reach a point that you can clearly see 70 or 80 miles ahead.

We pulled into Goulding’s campground in late afternoon, with the Mittens (famously named buttes) clearly visible from our spot in the red sandstone hills.  I don’t know how the Gouldings were able to assemble such an enterprise as they have here for tourists, but they are about the only game in town other than the Navajo tribal facility, which isn’t nearly as significant.  If you can think of an enterprise that would be used by tourists, there is a Goulding name on it:  Goulding’s Lodge, Goulding’s Restaurant, Goulding’s Campground, Goulding’s Tours, Goulding’s Grocery Store, Goulding’s Car Wash, even Goulding’s Airport.  This family simply has a gold mine here.


The famous formations around here are what’s left of vertical sandstone rock areas that have eroded more slowly than the softer sandstone shale areas around them.  This erosion has been taking place over tens of millions of years, and one day, they will finally be gone.  (Don’t worry, Bubba, it won’t be on our lifetime.)  These formations are said to constitute the most photographed landscape in the world.

Of all the photos I took, the two above are my personal favorites.

We had a nice steak dinner in Goulding’s Restaurant overlooking the valley, and afterward, a nice Fourth of July fireworks show.  

Goulding's Restaurant overlooks Monument Valley.

Only foodies take photos of their meals. (This was quite good, and we don't apologize for being foodies.)

Lucille just had to get into the act.  She's pretty fetching, don't you think?

View from Goulding RV Park at dawn

A view of our parking spot with Lucille and Homer in the foreground

I can’t help remembering the countless photos and movies I’ve seen with this area as the backdrop, and it’s hard to believe it’s taken me so long to see it for myself.  I am truly humbled with gratitude that God gave me life, eyesight and a perfect companion with whom I can behold what must be some of His best handiwork.

Train Ride to Silverton

If you are a railroad buff (or even if you’re not), taking the narrow-gauge rail trip between Durango and Silverton, Colorado is not to be missed.  It is one of the truly iconic train rides in the country, the railroad having been in business since 1882.  The ancient coal-fired steam engines are throwbacks to an era unknown to the last three generations or so of Americans, and the fact that these 1920s relics are still operating reliably is an engineering wonder.  Parts for these locomotives have been nonexistent for decades, so the Durango and Silverton Railroad rebuilds them or manufactures new ones themselves in their state-of-the art shops.

I had ridden the train in my childhood, so my memories of the trip were very hazy.  Sandy had never experienced it at all, so Bubba invited us to meet them in Durango and make the trip with them today.  He made reservations months ago, and if you intend to take this trip, you need to do the same.  Don’t bother to show up on the day of departure and expect to get a seat.


We were to meet at 8:00 a.m., to arrive at the station and get parked in time for the 9:00 a.m. train and, almost as amazing as the locomotives, Bubba and his group were on time! 


Sandy had been a little nervous about the trip, as she has some degree of acrophobia and feared the train would be negotiating hairpin curves overlooking deep chasms, a situation that would be very uncomfortable for her.  Unfortunately, I didn’t remember enough about my childhood ride to offer her much assurance that the route wouldn’t be a challenging in this way.  However, as the train made its way up the Animas River valley, it became clear that there would be no hairpin curves overlooking deep canyons, except for a short stretch near Rockwood that was relatively benign but simply too picturesque for her to be apprehensive.


The vast majority of the route followed the Animas River, a gorgeous clear stream cascading over millions of rocks and through calm eddies, as well, making its way south to Durango and beyond.  The water flow is substantial enough to offer a good ride to countless rafters and tubers, and such an adventure seemed really appealing due to the picturesque setting in the cool mountain air.

Typical scenery en route to Silverton
The train travels quite slowly, taking three and one-half hours to reach Silverton, a charming old mining town at 9,300 feet elevation, at which point a layover of a couple of hours was provided for lunch and sightseeing before returning to Durango. 

Main Street in Silverton
A popular option for riders is to omit the return trip in favor of a much faster bus ride.  We chose the bus for the leg back to Durango, and we’re glad we did.  The road trip was through gorgeous mountain scenery, and the driver, who gave an excellent touristy narrative, pointed out that the San Juan Skyway, a part of which is the route between Silverton and Durango, is one of the ten most scenic drives in America.  We would have to agree and vowed to return sometime to make the entire 126-mile trip.


Is this train trip one that I would do again?  Probably not.  Once you get past reliving the rich history of the railroad and the novelty of passenger travel on a steam train, the trip is really little more than spending three and a half hours looking at the Animas River at the bottom of picturesque, but not dissimilar, canyons.  I think one hour would have been enough.


After our return to Durango, we drove about ten miles north to Hermosa and visited Honeyville, a purveyor of honey, jams and jellies and other novelties since 1950.  We got quite a few samples before deciding on six jars of tasty, but rather expensive, honey butter and jellies.


We then came back to town and toured the Durango and Silverton Railroad’s museum (free with your trip ticket), housed in the old roundhouse, still in use by the company to perform maintenance on its rolling stock.  We enjoyed this interesting exhibit and then walked to a nearby Thai restaurant (named the Sizzling Pot, I think) for what turned out to be some really second rate food.  We won’t be going back to this one.


Returning to the RV park, we stopped by Bubba’s trailer and spent a couple of hours sitting outside chatting with the group.  We laughed a lot and finally broke up the merriment as the warmth of the day yielded to the growing coldness of the night mountain air.


It was a good day--a very good day--and tomorrow we will be leaving for Monument Valley.

Cool Colorado

It was a beastly drive to Durango from Clovis--some eleven hours to travel the 430 miles, including fairly long stops for fuel and lunch and another shorter stop to make a sandwich to eat while we drove.  Lucille’s computer showed 12.9 mpg, which I thought was quite respectable.  I’ve paid between $2.79 and $3.28 per gallon for diesel, usually around $3.08 in this area.


We hate driving such long distances but, we were behind schedule, and my days off are not yet unlimited, like you lucky retirees!  Grrrrr.  The journey was unremarkable, but Sandy’s knee was beginning to bother her due to the long sitting spells that deprived her of the movement she needs for optimizing the healing process. We shouldn’t have any more of these long driving days; I’m trying to keep the legs below 300 miles.


Bubba met us at Lightner Creek Campground in Durango around 10:00 p.m., and boy, was it dark—country dark!  We didn’t even attempt to unhook Homer from Lucille, because setting up in the dark is not only a struggle, but it’s noisy, and the other campers don’t appreciate all that racket so late in the evening.  We just hooked up electricity and water and went to bed, dog tired.  We would finish setting up in the morning.


We awoke to find ourselves in a very nice campground that followed the banks of Lightner Creek, a clear, gurgling stream that flows down a narrow mountain valley about five miles west of Durango.  The place is full this July 4th weekend, and we roamed around until we found Bubba and his crew. 

Bubba, LouAnn and Sandy in front of their trailer

We then went out on our own for a little shopping, during which we ate lunch at La Margarita, a fairly good Mexican restaurant, but certainly not up to Texas standards.  I’m not sure why we keep trying Mexican restaurants outside Texas; so far, it hasn’t yielded very good results; I guess it’s because hope springs eternal.  By the way, the worst Mexican restaurant we have ever patronized, and the one by which all other bad Mexican restaurants will be judged, is the one in London, England.  I can’t even remember the name now, as I have attempted to obliterate it from my memory.  Suffice it to say that it truly deserved to be dispatched to the dustbin of history by a talented arsonist.   Sandy enjoyed looking in all the shops in the bustling downtown area, she bought some very handsome earrings in the shape of a Suguaro cactus, which I thought appropriate, given the area in which we are traveling. 


Durango is a vibrant, busy town that is very clean and well-policed, appearing to be almost devoid of the kind of blight we saw in Clovis.  I’m not sure how they manage that, given today’s economy, but it reminded me of towns we have seen in Switzerland and Austria that appear to have no citizen underclass.  Amazing.  (Post-publishing note:     We found the, ah, more modest residential area some distance north of the city, in the Hermosa area.)


On tap for the evening’s entertainment was dinner and a show at the Bar D ranch, serving a barbecue dinner to about a thousand folks, who remained for music from a talented quartet singing mostly western songs including, to our delight, the iconic “Tumbling Tumbleweeds,” which I’m sure the group has done every night since 1969 when the place opened.    The dinner was forgettable, but the guys were superb instrumentalists and singers, and we enjoyed the show very much.  We got back to Homer quite late and slept well, enjoying a short rain shower peppering down on the roof. 

Bar D Ranch audience pavilion covered due to brief shower

Bar D Ranch singers and the Barker Family

 
Barry and Algene, Bubba’s mom and dad        Pavilion cover retracted after rain