May 8, 1988
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May 8, 1988 |
My first view of the Grand Valley was from the back seat of a Hudson touring car in the late 20's. And it was not under the happiest of circumstances.
The journey from Denver, where we lived, to Grand Junction was in itself a bit of an adventure. As we make the trip today on the interstate in less than five hours we may well suspect that the mountains were created with the asphalt already in place. Actually, it wasn't that way. There were basically two routes from Denver to the Western Slope. My parents' favorite one was through Gunnison, where they liked to fish. The other was Route 40 through Kremling, but that was, as I remember it, a once only. The Gore Pass road in the 20's left my mother, raised on the flatlands of Illinois, threatening to move back there if she ever had to make that trip again. But there was a third route, less well known and which I found much more exciting than either of the others. That way went through Leadville and the Carleton Tunnel. The tunnel under the Continental Divide was built as a part of a rail route, but had been turned into an automobile road - of sorts. For a dollar you could drive through it, eastbound traffic for half the day, westbound the other half. The western portal opened onto the beautiful valley of the Frying Pan, and some of the most spectacular scenery in Colorado.
On this particular trip, our first to the Grand Junction area, we negotiated the tunnel route and arrived in Collbran, where my father had a meeting. Two nights later he was scheduled in Cedaredge. On the map was a tiny little blue line over the Grand Mesa. Since that was obviously the shortest route to Cedaredge, and since we wanted to camp out in the most beautiful spot available, it seemed to my ultimately sensible father to be the logical one. I, of course, was just along for the ride.
There was one problem that we had not taken into account. It rained. And it rained. And then it rained some more. And the road - that squiggly little blue line - turned into the longest mud hole in history.
In those days the Hudson was a prince among cars. It would go nearly anywhere. But it drew the line at going uphill in dobie mud.
And so somewhere on the top of the Grand Mesa the gears gave out and there we sat, in the rain, with night coming, apparently the only people in the world.
The road literally disappeared and the forest closed in. We managed to put up our tent by the side of the road where any car that might, by some miracle, happen by could not miss us. The tent leaked, but it was better than sleeping in the car with isinglass curtains.
Building a fire was impossible, so the three beautiful steaks we had brought for our dinner could only taunt us. We ate everything we had that didn't have to be cooked and settled in for a long, wet night.
In the morning a truck came along headed down the hill. I have no idea who the driver was or where he came from, but he was Sir Galahad to me. He helped us get a fire going and I had my first ever cup of coffee. He promised to send help to us from Collbran and sure enough, we finally got off that mountain. I swore never to climb it again - never dreaming that one day it would become one of my favorite spots in the world.
This time we followed the longer line to Cedaredge, the red one, and I saw Grand Junction for the first time. I would like to say that I fell in love with it immediately, but to be quite honest, I can't remember anything about it. I do, however, remember Grand Mesa.