I woke up to my alarm at 5 am and groggily crawled into the front seat to start the engine. It had gotten cold last night and the car windows were fogged up from my body heat. I was determined to get back to the Canyon Rim Trail to photograph the sunrise scheduled at 5:58. Heading back towards downtown, I was the only car on the road. Two deer on the side of the road glanced at me with disinterest as I passed. Near town, a few other cars wound up behind me heading in the same direction. When our convoy passed the Colorado Territorial Correctional Facility on the edge of town, the other cars all turned into its parking lot. They must have been relief for the night shift.
20 minutes out onto the trail, I arrived at the viewpoint I was hoping to photograph. The first rays of the day were beginning to touch the Sangre de Cristo mountains on the other side of the gorge. In the stillness of the dawn, there was nothing to hear but the roar of the river far below.
First light over Royal Gorge
Back in town, I treated myself to a breakfast bagel sandwich. The bagel shop on Main Street had opened just a month earlier and they were still working out the kinks. I ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese. The cashier asked me what kind of cream cheese I wanted. Confused, I asked if the sandwich came with cream cheese. “Yes. The system is asking what kind you want. I have to put it in.”
After breakfast, I returned to the cafe I’d visited the day before. A young police officer came in and she started chatting with the only other patron in the cafe, a man who looked only a few years older than her. The owner of the cafe, who was going through inventory, somehow got involved in the conversation too. They all knew each other. From what I gathered, the man sipping coffee was a teacher, and the police officer was a former student of his. She was sharing her dreams of working in a big city out east. Washington, D.C., New York, maybe Philadelphia. “I think everyone needs to get out of Cañon City,” chimed the cafe owner. He then turned to the teacher and asked, “Have you left yet?” His phrasing suggested it was inevitable that everyone born in Cañon City would fight to one day escape it.
I once again left town to the west as if heading back to Red Canyon Park. But this time I would continue past the turn off and keep driving for several hours. Not in any rush to get out, I decided to take a quick tour of Skyline Drive, a scenic route that takes motorists along the top of a cliff high above the city. The views were impressive and the one-way road was perched precariously between two sheer drops. One twitch of the steering wheel in either direction could have meant a 200-foot plummet.
I followed US-50 as it in turn followed the Arkansas River upstream. The route was lined with rafting tour company offices. I passed a school bus that a rafting company had painted sky blue. It was towing a trailer full of river rafts. I never knew school buses could tow anything.
The road entered a more narrow part of the gorge. There were no more intersections; once in the gorge, there was no way out but the other end. However, there were several pullouts that offered scenic views of the river. There were far too many to stop at all of them. However, I did stop at one that offered a small viewing platform dangling above a set of rapids. I wandered down to the sandy riverbank below the platform and waded in a few steps. I hadn’t showered in over 2,500 miles and the water felt fantastic.
The Arkansas River from the side of the US-50
Further into the gorge, it began to rain. Gray clouds hung low above the canyon walls making everything feel slightly more claustrophobic. At Coaldale, however, the gorge opened up to a lush green valley. In Salida, a local hardware store had a sign up: “It it’s in stock, we have it.” A political campaign sign made the case for a redundantly named candidate: “Elect Hannah Hannah.”
As the road wound through switchbacks in San Isabel National Forest, large fallen rocks littered the westbound lane. They were the size of bed pillows, but much more dangerous. I waited for oncoming traffic to pass so I could swerve around the obstacles. As the road entered an extended 6% downhill grade, a runaway truck ramp led up a steep slope where a few dozen barrels of sand waited for their moment to shine.
Eventually, the road began to run alongside the Gunnison River. The river was wider than the segment of the Arkansas River that the route had paralleled a few hours earlier near Cañon City. Fishermen in waders stood on small gravel islands in the river, waiting for a bite.
The Blue Mesa Dam has created a reservoir fed by the river. The lakeshore was dotted with RVs that had driven down the sand to park at the water’s edge. Every bend in the road opened up a new, even more stunning view of the river and its gorge. At each viewpoint, I stopped and told myself that this had to be the last stop of the evening. But once I saw how beautiful the next viewpoint was, I couldn’t help myself.
Blue Mesa Reservoir
I drove out to the spot I hoped to camp in to see it during daylight. I had read that a high clearance, four-wheel-drive vehicle was recommended for the access road. My car fit the bill, but I wanted to make sure to see the layout while it was still light to be sure I wouldn’t have any problems. It was a complex web of dirt tracks used by locals for ATVing and dirt biking. There were several fantastic camping spots, however, and several vans and RVs had already set up for the night.
With 45 minutes of daylight left, I set out to drive 45 minutes back to the Blue Mesa Reservoir to photograph the sunset. While still 15 minutes out, the red hues on the horizon disappeared and turned a pallid gray. I was worried I was arriving too late. The sunset got a second wind, however, and when I finally made it to the viewpoint, pink, red, and orange had once again returned. The colors lasted maybe three minutes before darkness set in. Content, I returned to the camping spot.
While preparing to hop into bed for the night, I heard the distinct pitter-patter of tiny rodent feet inside the dashboard. I had already put out my protective fox pee barrier and couldn’t believe a critter had nonetheless snuck in. I hadn’t even been parked more than five minutes. I thought I saw a mouse poke its head out from under the steering column. Making as much noise as I could to scare it off, I put out peppermint-scented pouches, stuffed steel wool into the steering column gap, and set a few traps under the brake pedal baited with Cheerios and peanuts.
Once I calmed down a little, however, I realized it was entirely possible I had just heard the wind rustling outside and that I hadn’t actually seen anything except the strange shadows cast by my flashlight. Maybe my mouse paranoia had gotten the best of me. Either way, I knew I was going to spend the night hyper vigilant and straining to identify any suspicious noises amid the howling wind buffeting the sides of the car.
Comments