Not that we haven’t met our share of unique people on this trip, but Walden, CO, just south of the Wyoming border, takes the cake.  It all started with my arrival at the Granite Corner RV Park, which turned out to have exactly three RV spots off a side street—not an amenity to be seen. The camp host showed me to my spot, then mentioned that the RV next to me was supposed to be gone by now: did I want that spot? Since there was a 30-foot RV in the way, I declined, and proceeded to set up. 

As soon as the host left, the RV’s owner appeared, weaving his way over to me for a chat. If the unsteady gait hasn’t clued me in, the glassy stare and the alcohol fumes would have confirmed his state of inebriation. Without Russ, I felt a bit uneasy, and excused myself as soon as possible.  I took my dogs out and was greeted by a pack of loose  dogs from across the street, all barking and running toward me.  I sternly ordered them to go home. The owners appeared, an older couple, both paramedics. They and the dogs were friendly. They were very familiar with the occupant of my neighboring RV, and reassured me that he was ‘harmless.’

When Russ arrived, the host Shelly and her husband, deputy sheriff Kenny, offered to let him put his bike in their garage. We accepted, and had a conversation with them about my neighbor. They also let me know that we’d probably meet another neighbor, Bruce, who never appears outdoors without a full face mask, dark glasses, and military-style hat.  He, too, was apparently ‘harmless.’

Sure enough, the next day, after we’d toured the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge, ‘Bruce’ appeared. He quickly let me know that he:  a) could not tell me his full name, but that I could call him Colonel or Allen(?), b) was ‘required by law’ to carry the pistol at his hip, c) was ‘owned’ by the State Department, and d) that the satellite signals met over his house. (Apparently, that was a pretty tame introduction: he didn’t even tell me what a genius he was, or that he would tell me his mission, but then he’d have to kill me.)

Meanwhile, the owner of the RV park, who was apparently in Texas, kept calling, wanting to know every detail of my interaction with the owner of the delinquent RV, and pledging all manner of legal actions against him.  Since Kenny the deputy sheriff seemed unconcerned with the whole situation, I was dubious about her promises to have him removed. 

We went to dinner at a local wood-fired pizza place and now apparently we know half the people in town (one of the paramedics from across the street was there and introduced us). He was also there the next day when our inebriated neighbor called the ambulance to take him to the hospital for his back pain. 

And I nearly forgot the loose horse that appeared out of nowhere, trotted up the street, and turned into the barnyard of the paramedics’ house. Not their horse, apparently: the wife simply closed the gate and kept it in their pasture until the owner showed up, which happened soon after. The owner captured the horse, which was apparently enjoying its ‘field trip’, after some chasing around, and finally drove off into the sunset on her ATV with the horse in tow. 

(Not to ignore the Arapaho Wildlife Refuge: it was great, even if I did spend six hours searching for the moose that were supposed to be plentiful there and never saw any. There were lots of pronghorn antelope and waterfowl, and we had a great time watching the antics of the ground squirrels and prairie dogs.)

Tuesday morning I got a call from Russ—he’d made it to Hot Sulphur Springs, but wasn’t feeling well, and he sounded like he had a nasty cold. So I packed up and left Elliot Creek a day early to hold Russ hostage at his motel for an extra night and force-feed him liquids.

The next day, Russ declared he was feeling a little better, though he was worried about his shortness of breath. There was some discussion with a fellow resident of the motel about the possibility of altitude sickness. Russ insisted on riding: I drove ahead to a nearby store and bought him Gatorade and oxygen (they sell little oxygen inhalers around here—I guess altitude sickness is pretty common at 9,000 feet). Thank goodness I haven’t been affected, other than a slight headache, but then I haven’t had to bicycle over the continental divide twice already!

In the meantime, I cancelled my plans to go ahead to Riverside, Wyoming, and luckily found a campsite in nearby Walden, Colorado.

On the way, I drove through the Willow Creek area of the Medicine Bow—Routt National Forest. This area was devastated by a wildfire that burned over 240,000 acres of northcentral Colorado and southcentral Wyoming in 2020, and the damage is clearly seen to this day. I had hoped to visit one of the campsites here, but all of them are closed.

Though my campsite is outrageously expensive and boasts no natural beauty whatsoever (except for the ever-present snow capped mountains in the distance), there is an upside: Walden is only 7 miles from the Arapaho National Wildlife Refuge. AND I’ve already seen two pronghorn antelopes! Tomorrow I’ll visit the refuge, which has several wildlife loops that can be driven or walked, and lots of viewing overlooks.

(Russ just texted me: he is moving slowly, but moving, and he made it over the continental divide at Willow Creek Pass. He will make it to Walden this evening.) I offered to meet him at Arapaho, eight miles before Walden, and ferry him the rest of the way. Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying!

After two months of heading due west, we headed north from Cañon City, up along the continental divide, through Breckenridge and Silverthorne. My next destination was Elliot Creek Campground, in Heeney, CO. Russ should make it the same day, as he left before me.

The scenery, not surprisingly, was spectacular, and although I was sorry to leave Eastridge, I was excited for what looked like another great area for hiking. But first, my Subaru had to make it over Hoosier Pass (at 11,542 feet, the highest elevation on the Trans-American Bike Route)—which she did, like a champ!

Elliot Creek Campground, on the Green Mountain Reservoir, is delightful, even if snowmelt streams still run through several campsites (including mine). There was a small waterfall just behind my trailer, and a good view of the reservoir out front.

I got there early afternoon on Saturday the 4th, and Russ showed up soon after. Sunday we decided to check out the trail along the Blue River that flows below the reservoir dam—a hotspot for fly fishermen. The way down to the river turned out to be a nearly vertical drop, and even though I’d convinced Russ to get some better hiking shoes, he didn’t feel he could make it down that slope. BUT on the way there, we saw a young man radio-tracking something, and we stopped to chat with him. He was tracking bighorn sheep for the CO wildlife service, and while we were talking, he pointed out a young ewe standing just across the road! He also identified the groundhog-like creature I’d seen earlier as a marmot. Back at camp, we spotted a golden-mantled ground squirrel (a chipmunk without facial stripes), and the next day I saw a least chipmunk (striped face) and a pine squirrel (they’re called chickarees, which I think is adorable).

Russ headed out early the next day to avoid anticipated thundershowers, and I made another attempt to get to the river, this time accompanied by Moe (I didn’t think I could get myself up and down that steep slope holding Scooby, and he for sure was not going to make it on his own). So, leaving Scooby peacefully snoozing in the camper, Moe and I headed out. Despite my best efforts, I slid on the hill and ended up descending about halfway on my rear, a painful and undignified process. My hands were a bit scraped up, and my butt was sore, but thank goodness my shorts survived! So I dusted myself off and decided that, as long as I was already down, I might as well keep going.

And oh my God, was I ever glad! Even I could not take a bad picture of this river canyon (and believe me, I can take BAD pictures). It was simply stunning. Moe had his BEST. DAY. EVER. while I enjoyed the scenery and tried not to break anything.

He even went swimming! Nearly gave me another heart attack, as I thought he’d be swept downstream.

Of course, there were wildflowers in abundance:

No, I’m not a wildflower expert. That’s what Google is for!

Moe and I made it back to the car without mishap, to find a marmot sunning himself by my front fender. We sat some distance away and watched for a bit, then returned to camp just before a thunderstorm hit. I was exhausted, but thrilled with all I’d seen.

Friday, and time for one last hike around Eastridge Campground. I chose to head out on Canyon Rim, then cut over to Twisted Cistern, and finally head back on Dark Side of the Moon. A perfect day for hiking, sunny but with a cooling breeze. The boys trotted happily along.

Saw several birds along the way: hummingbirds—broad-tailed and black-chinned are both common in CO, but I could never get one to hold still long enough to identify. Spotted towhees are everywhere, and one of the few birds that seem comfortable sitting out in the open. They look just like our eastern towhees: black back and head, chestnut sides, white belly, but their backs are spotted with white. I saw my first sage thrasher! I’m no expert on flycatchers (notoriously hard to identify, especially the Empids), but given the habitat and the size of the bird, I’m pretty sure I saw an Ash-Throated Flycatcher. Sitting bolt upright, with a crown of brown feathers that look like they’ve been spiked with mousse, distinct wing bars—yep, I’ll say Ash-Throated. 

Prickly pear cactus flowers are really starting to come out. While not as striking as the deep red barrel cactus flowers, they range from a pure lemon yellow to a yellow touched with peach or red, to a pale peach.

And I spotted some new flowers!

Tomorrow (Saturday) I’m off to Elliot Creek Campground, on the Green Mountain Reservoir, just outside of Heeney, CO.

Goodbye, Cañon City and Royal Gorge. It’s been wonderful!

Russ hasn’t stopped saying “Wow!” since he got here on Sunday afternoon. The next day, he eagerly joined me for a hike. For some reason, the trail I’d walked just a day before had me confused, and we walked back for a way along the dirt road. Later, he was busy tuning up his bike, so I set off with Moe for a late afternoon hike out a new trail. This one, on a south-facing slope, gave me a chance to see some early cactus flowers and others:

We just can’t get enough of the scenery! Neither of us has been through this area before (I visited my sister in Boulder once, years ago, but did not go exploring), so we are like little kids, exclaiming over every peak and cliff.

My bird list is growing, with new sightings of spotted towhees and western scrub jays. 

Once Russ decided to hang around until Thursday, to avoid the rain expected on Wednesday, I started making plans to do something special once the holiday weekend crowds were gone. There are whitewater rafting and zip line tours galore—we decided on rafting, as we’ve been zip lining but never rafting. Tuesday morning, we headed out bright and early to take a half-day whitewater rafting tour. 

It was a blast! The Arkansas River runs through the Royal Gorge, spanned by a spectacular suspension bridge, just outside of Cañon City, and the rafting company was only a few miles from camp. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. Even Russ loved it, and he’s not much of a water person. Me, I love anything to do with water!

We could have been the grandparents of everyone else on this tour. Anyone even close to our age had gone off on the more ’family friendly’ trip. We were pretty proud of ourselves for tackling four Class IV rapids, along with a slew of Class IIIs. One of the three rafts (not ours) flipped, dumping everyone in the river. Everyone got rescued quickly, and all were OK. And everyone that had to swim got to write their names and thoughts on the bus!

After rafting, we had a huge, delicious lunch and headed over to the nearby KOA to take some much needed hot showers. By the time we made it back, the dogs had plenty to say about being left for so long, but they were quickly pacified with dinner. We both fell asleep, exhausted by all the adrenaline of the morning. When we woke, there was a large herd of mule deer (I counted at least 12, including three bucks with new antlers in velvet, and one fawn) calmly feeding around our campsite. We watched them for quite a while: there are very few campers here now, so there wasn’t any commotion to spook them. You’ll have to go to Russ’s site (www.russloomis.com) to see the pictures: I was too busy being fascinated to think of photos!

Oh, AND in the middle of all the rafting excitement, I managed to spot an American Dipper! These birds only live along swift-running streams and rivers (they actually go underwater and walk along the river bottom to find small aquatic insects), so I was delighted to see one!

Driving from western Kansas into Colorado, you become aware of how high you are in elevation, despite the fact that the landscape is so flat. Western Kansas is above 3,000 feet: by the time I had gotten well into Colorado, through miles of gently rising hills, like long, low ocean waves, the elevation was above 4,000 feet. And then there was my first glimpse of the Rockies, which seem to appear out of nowhere:

I drove the last 50 or so miles through Pueblo and Cañon City with a stupid grin on my face. 

I was lucky to find Eastridge Campground, and possibly the last campsite in this whole area for the Memorial Day weekend. Eastridge is a primitive campground set above the Royal Gorge just west of Cañon City. Some will gripe that $20 per night is a high price to pay for a campground with no electricity or water. I say this place would be cheap at twice the price—the scenery is that spectacular. The host and her two sons (and their basset hound Elvis) are very friendly and helpful. It even smells great, thanks to the piñon pines!

As the dogs and I were setting out for a Saturday morning hike, we met CJ, a retired Marine Major and Afghanistan vet, who was out for the weekend with his WIBTech camper:

Made in Colorado!

Had a great time talking to him. We found out we’d both lived in DC. We compared campers and ‘minimalist life’. He showed me his solar arrays, which I’m thinking of adding to my gear, and we swapped Cosmo Weems (the teardrop guru) tips. He also told me about the old Phantom Canyon road, which he recommended for Russ to ride back to Route 9 and our way north. Lots of historical markers and great scenery. 

On the other hand, you can look in any direction here and find great scenery. There is beauty here beyond imagining.

And, of course, there are small beauties everywhere:

I can’t wait to do more hiking, but in the meantime, I’m off to town to get water…

So I finally make it to Colorado, and what’s the first thing I do? Get my vehicles stuck up to the axles in mud. What looked like a perfectly reasonable dirt road turned out to be nothing but a mud pit (Note to self: do NOT trust Colorado dirt roads, especially after a rain.).

What I was TRYING TO DO was to kill some time by birdwatching before I showed up at the church which was kindly allowing both of us to stay overnight. What I DID was get hopelessly stuck trying to get to the lake south of town, which turned out NOT TO EXIST anymore (Google maps, take note!). Since the only contact information I had was for the church pastor, I called him, hoping he would tell me who to call for a tow. I was NOT expecting him to say ”Well, I guess that would be me. Wait a few minutes and I’ll be there.” Tiny towns in eastern Colorado do not have towing services—they have helpful neighbors with four-wheel pickups.

No, I did not take pictures. Imagine me covered in thick clay to the knees, and you get the idea. The pastor was unbelievably gracious about the whole thing, and, once we made it back to the church, proceeded to give me a tour and offer me whatever I needed. He even told me how he’d gotten stuck once. A Good Samaritan, indeed!

After Russ joined me on Sunday night, we decided to take Monday to go see two highly recommended natural sites. But first, we stopped off to see the partially reconstructed pueblo just south of the lake—the northern- and eastern-most pueblo dwelling yet found in the United States. I was privy to some insider information, having just encountered a team of archaeology students and their professor at the laundromat in Scott City the day before. They were working on a small dig just south of the state park, and were happy to answer my questions about their dig, the pueblo, and larger questions about the movement of Puebloan peoples across the southwest. (A side note: I majored in Anthropology, and sent a summer with a team excavating the Salmon River Ruins in Bloomfield, New Mexico while I was in college. And while, just as my dad feared, I never held a job in Anthropology, I’ve always been fascinated by the subject. But enough about me.)

We met a very interesting couple from New York state at the pueblo site, I was able to sound fairly well-informed there, and we talked for quite awhile. They were headed to the same places we were, so we saw them again throughout the day.

Monument Rocks. There is nothing I can say that would improve upon these pictures, so enjoy (and enlarge them if you want to get a better idea of the immensity of these formations)!

Then we headed to the nearby Little Jerusalem Badlands, Kansas’s most dramatic Niobrara chalk formation, formed from the prehistoric inland sea. An important habitat for many plants and wildlife, including wild buckwheat, Swift foxes, pronghorn antelope, ferruginous hawks and badgers, it also has many marine fossils. Apparently, it got the “Jerusalem” name because from a distance it looked like the ancient walled city of Jerusalem. It was for generations part of a private ranch. Now it is owned by The Nature Conservancy.

As Russ said to me later, it was a great day!

A gray, windy and cold day at Quivira, but still worth it. Deer. Raccoons. A weasel carrying her baby across a mud flat into the tall grass. Ruddy Turnstones. Wilson’s Phalaropes spinning like tops in the water. Semipalmated Sandpipers. And lots more.

Leaving Quivira, I was directed to turn right, turn left, and then “For 118 miles, go straight.” One road (96), straight across Kansas. Flat as a pancake, nothing but fields and the occasional tiny town.

In desperation, I searched for a radio station that was not trying to bring me to an ecstatic love-bond with Jesus, and found probably the only public radio station in the area—HPPR, the High Plains Public Radio. They were broadcasting Western swing, their usual Saturday programming, and today was a special dance edition.  Now, I am here to tell you, you have not lived until you have heard the Western swing version of “I Could Have Danced All Night.” Which led me to fantasize an entirely Western swing version of My Fair Lady, with an Midwestern rancher-type trying to ‘educate’ prim easterner Eliza. (Someone needs to work on that idea. Just sayin’.)  Kept me going right up to the shores of Historic Lake Scott State Park. 

They call it HISTORIC Lake Scott for a reason. Battle of Punished Woman’s Fork, site of the last Native American/Cavalry battle in Kansas. El Cuartelejo, the only known Pueblo ruins in Kansas. Early settlements. And that’s just the historic sites INSIDE the park.  The whole area is rich in history, with Indian forts, early stagecoach lines, museums, and more. 

And the scenery!! This is like nothing else in the state—they call it the badlands of Kansas. The dogs and I hiked the 6 mile trail around the lake.

After hiking the trail, I drove to the Punished Woman Fork battle site, where a band of northern Cheynne, fleeing from a reservation and trying to return to their home in the north, made a stand against U.S. Cavalry forces in 1878. They hid their women and children in the cave at the head of this canyon, while men took defensive positions along the canyon walls. They managed to fatally wound the Cavalry commander, but were forced to escape by night, leaving all of their horses and possessions behind. Some were captured quickly, while others managed to roam the Nebraska sandhills for a time.

You can walk down to the cave, and around the small canyon, where the barricades and rifle pits built by the Comanche can still be seen. I felt a great sadness, thinking of these people so desperate just to go home.

OK, so Russ and I have been doing plenty of crabbing about Kansas: it’s too hot, it’s too windy, the weather is freaking scary, etc., etc.

So I thought hard, and came up with some positive things about Kansas:

1. It’s not crowded

2) When Google Maps says ”For the next XX miles, go straight,” you can do exactly that!

3) Grass! If you like grass, you’ll LOVE Kansas!

4) Windmills

5) You’ll never feel claustrophobic

Oh, I could go on and on about how great Kansas is. But you’ll have to excuse me: I’m busy trying to get to Colorado right now.