My Road Trips - Winter Park, Colorado
Winter Park, Colorado
Several months after my first Rocky Mountain National Park trip, I planned another trip to Colorado, but this time I wasn't going alone. This time, the source of my pleasure and pain (we'll call her Roxanne), was involved. We planned to stay in her father's cabin near a tiny town called Westcliffe, Colorado, and go skiing at Winter Park. This epic began at the beginning of Christmas break, when I drove from Iowa to Kansas to pick up Roxanne. From Wichita we drove on state roads to Colorado, passing through Pueblo on the way to her cabin.
Now once again, my car (the beloved Shadow) was not in perfect condition for this journey. Seriously, most college students don't have the plentiful cash needed to procure highly reliable transportation, so I carried many tools in my car, should the need arise. For some reason (I really can't remember why), the Shadow only had one working headlight. As we were cruising down the Colorado highway, the mounting hardware for the working headlight fell apart, and the light flipped down so that it was pointed at the ground. Clearly this was not good for me, as I wanted to see what was in front of me in the starry Colorado night.
Luckily we were near a town, and as we crept along the access roads at a snail's pace to keep from colliding with the curb or other objects, we were blessed with the discovery of a parts store which was open. After examining the damage, I determined that I couldn't restore the working headlight to its original position without special mounting hardware, so I went into the store to get parts and supplies. When Roxanne and I got back to the car, I popped the hood and started planning how I was going to rework this mess into a manageable situation. I replaced the bad headlight with a new bulb, and used some 100 pound test string to wire the other light into a somewhat useful position. Back in business and fired up about the trip, Roxanne and I headed back to the dark void of the road.
Arriving at the driveway to Roxanne's cabin, we were glad that there was no snow to impede our ascent up to the ramshackle dwelling. We opened the gate, and I headed for my first try up the driveway. Now a little explanation is needed here. The path which led from the highway up to the cabin was called a driveway, but in my mind it was no such thing. It was a joke, and a bad one at that. I'm convinced that the angle of the road approached forty-five degrees, and the washed-out crevice-strewn road from hell was covered with rocks as big as a man's hand, some as big as a basketball. I have no doubt that my poor Shadow sustained mechanical damage as a result of that driveway. It took a few tries, but I did eventually crest the top of the path and parked next to the A-frame cabin.
During the day or two Roxanne and I stayed at her family's cabin, we lived like royalty in the meager surroundings. We drank in the cold fresh air, marveled at the beauty of the Rockies, read books, and cooked meals from cans. We drank hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps, and slept under a flaky electric blanket. After a short time in this tiny paradise, we felt the urge to push on, so we said goodbye to the Sangre De Cristo range and drove north, towards Denver.
We stopped in Colorado Springs on our way to Denver. We got gas and I called my parents from a Total gas station, and then we headed west to the Garden of the Gods. The Garden of the Gods is a beautiful park with many gigantic, unique red rock formations. Roxanne and I stopped at several places on the road through the park. We read the graffiti on a huge smooth vertical cliff face, and climbed on myriad colorful rocks throughout the park. After spending an hour or two in this activity, we pressed on to Denver.
Upon reaching Denver in the afternoon, Roxanne and I decided that we should drive into the mountains to secure lodging near Winter Park, so we headed up the Rockies. When we got to Winter Park (after seeing police cars that were Camaros (!) at a town along the way) we found that all of the hotels in the nearby towns were too expensive and had no vacancy. We pushed on down the road, finally finding an inexpensive little motel about 10 or 20 miles away from the ski park, which had a single vacancy. So we took the room, enjoyed hot showers, watched Mr. Bean on TV, and drank some more of that infamous peppermint schnapps. I remember driving to the town grocery store that night to get a couple of mugs. I still have one of the mugs.
The next morning, we gathered our stuff, threw it in the car, checked out of the motel, and set off for the ski slopes. Snow had begun to fall the previous night, and continued blanketing the mountain in the morning. The roads were slippery, but I pulled it off and we made it (finally) to Winter Park. We parked the car (a million miles away, of course) and walked in our bright happy ski outfits into the park. We dished out the big bucks for lift tickets, ski rentals, and took off for the slopes.
The skiing was fun, as it always is, but the weather was downright bad. It was cold, foggy, and snowing the whole day. Roxanne and I became separated and lost each other a few times, which wasn't difficult considering that at times, that fog was so thick that I could only see about 20 feet in front of me. But we persevered, and had a good time. No matter what the conditions are, there's just nothing like flying down the side of a mountain with only physical balance and a couple of pieces of plastic keeping you from crashing and burning. Exhilarating is too weak of a word. Downright high and amped is more like it. Add to that the companionship of a dear friend and lover, and that's a fair description of what I felt that day. At the end of the day, exhausted and satisfied, we slogged back through the thick snow to the waiting car. After hastily stashing our gear, we were once again off and up out.
There had been some discussion regarding where we should go after leaving Winter Park. We needed to head back home, but the snow was getting prohibitively thick and I was wary of driving my unstable bald-treaded front wheel drive car along the icy mountain pass. At the ski lodge, Roxanne and I had heard reports that the transportation authority was intending to close Berthoud Pass, which was out only way back to Denver, before nightfall. So we decided to try and make it through before they closed the road. What followed on the road back to Denver was such a harrowing adventure, that I do not hesitate to claim that these were the worst driving conditions in which I've ever driven. My tires were spinning the entire 20 miles to the interstate, and we were getting passed by four wheel drive SUVs and trucks left and right. It was pathetic. The snow falling on the windshield immediately melted and re-froze on the windshield wipers, which rendered them completely ineffectual. Every three or four miles we were forced to stop from complete lack of visibility, and Roxanne jumped out of the car, valiantly de-icing the wipers so we could make it a little bit longer. At one point, we got stuck in a parking lot adjacent to a tiny ski area. After spinning my wheels for a few minutes, a couple of guys in shorts (our heros) just walked up to the back of my car with Coronas in hand, and pushed my car out of the lot. I'm a big believer in Corona, to this day.
I thought for sure we were going to die. In my mind, I had resolved that there was virtually no way that we were getting back to Denver without the destruction of my car and possibly the loss of our lives. It was Roxanne who gave me the mental strength to keep going. Her unwavering confidence in us, and in me, and her vocal support were the only things that kept me from losing all hope. My mood improved when we reached the interstate, though the interstate was just as much of a disaster as the other road. It was 100 percent snow and ice covered, and we drove back to Denver at a snail's pace, fearing our safety. Several hours later, we arrived, champions, at a nice comfortable hotel on the eastern edge of Denver. We slept soundly that night, in the warm blanket of safety.
The next day we drove back to Kansas, and hit the same storm which had plagued us the previous day. Consequently, driving back to Kansas was also not fun, but once again we triumphed and made it safely to her home.
