Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 76 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
"We don't always have to go far away," Sherrill told me. "There's plenty to see in this country. We don't need to save it for our 'old age.'"
Although we'd talked about saving places relatively close to home for when we were 'old,' we'd already taken mini-trips to see fall foliage in New England and to explore various cities, including Las Vegas, Chicago, Portland, and Seattle, but she was thinking of something more ambitious. As usual, she had a specific adventure in mind.
Although we'd talked about saving places relatively close to home for when we were 'old,' we'd already taken mini-trips to see fall foliage in New England and to explore various cities, including Las Vegas, Chicago, Portland, and Seattle, but she was thinking of something more ambitious. As usual, she had a specific adventure in mind.
Sherrill, Cathy, Bruce, Larry, Canyonlands National Park Salt Lake City, poised between the Rockies and the great Southwest, had changed since we'd last been there. The downtown area was circled by a ring of office towers that hid the Victorian granite spires of the Mormon Temple (for generations, the tallest building in town), the dome of the tabernacle, and the old LDS church headquarters. A new streamlined light-rail system also cut through the city, now. We'd flown to this pioneer metropolis of wide spotless avenues embraced by the forested Wasatch mountains—the western edge of the Rockies—to start our exploration of the Canyonlands area of Utah and neighboring states. Once again, we were traveling with Cathy and Larry, two good friends we'd hit the road with several times before.
The next morning, we set off with a local guide and her group to the old Mormon town of Moab, gateway to the red rock world of Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, a land of deep canyons, tall mesas and buttes, and landscapes eroded into fabulous, unexpected shapes. It even was possible that we'd stumble over petrified dinosaur tracks. In a Moab pub I bought a bottle of Polygamy Porter, which on its label asked "Why have just one?" Clearly, Utah now was less strict about alcohol than we remembered.
The next morning, we set off with a local guide and her group to the old Mormon town of Moab, gateway to the red rock world of Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, a land of deep canyons, tall mesas and buttes, and landscapes eroded into fabulous, unexpected shapes. It even was possible that we'd stumble over petrified dinosaur tracks. In a Moab pub I bought a bottle of Polygamy Porter, which on its label asked "Why have just one?" Clearly, Utah now was less strict about alcohol than we remembered.
Canyonlands National Park Part Grand Canyon, part Bryce Canyon, Canyonlands was awesome, terrifying, and beautiful all at once, a vast wilderness of rock with views of the twisting Colorado River and thousand foot drops down variegated cliffs, past orange and red spires, into canyons that opened out farther than we could see or probably imagine. As the light moved during the day, the rock formations shifted and changed shape and color, from rusty red to glowing orange and yellow to salmon with streaks of bloody purple and combinations of all of them. A detour took us to Dead Horse Point, atop a 2,000 foot peninsula.
"Herds of wild horses once roamed here," our guide told us. "Close your eyes and you'll hear their hooves."
That evening, overwhelmed by this endless grandeur, we were treated to a "cowboy" barbeque dinner cooked in Dutch ovens and then a boat ride on the Colorado River through an illuminated red rock canyon. We agreed that it was hokey, but fun, and when the artificial lights were turned off the black sky above the canyon walls exploded with stars.
"Herds of wild horses once roamed here," our guide told us. "Close your eyes and you'll hear their hooves."
That evening, overwhelmed by this endless grandeur, we were treated to a "cowboy" barbeque dinner cooked in Dutch ovens and then a boat ride on the Colorado River through an illuminated red rock canyon. We agreed that it was hokey, but fun, and when the artificial lights were turned off the black sky above the canyon walls exploded with stars.
Another day, another national park: miles of red rock arches sculpted by millions of years of erosion. Set off by a vast blue sky, the red-orange arches—some long and slender, others thick and sturdy—opened up to picture-frame views of rocks, mesas, pinnacles, other arches, and distant mountains. They looked as if they had been there forever and always would be, but we knew that weather and erosion still were, slowly but relentlessly, working on them. Most animals probably were waiting until the cooler night to come out, but we did spy several lizards, a couple of them sporting beautifully mottled jackets.
Arches National Park, Utah A picnic lunch by the Colorado introduced us to a delicacy called "Navajo Tacos" -- a kind of tortilla/puff pastry covered with chili. Sherrill and I almost choked with a fit of giggles, but ate our share. And I had more Polygamy Porter to wash it down. Sherrill soaked off a label for us to save.
"Nobody will believe it, otherwise."
Our appreciation of the absurd had helped bring us together decades before and it still was alive and kicking.
During lunch, we started talking with some of the other members of the group, including a middle-aged couple originally from Bangalore, where Sherrill and I once had quite a different kind of adventure.
"Nobody will believe it, otherwise."
Our appreciation of the absurd had helped bring us together decades before and it still was alive and kicking.
During lunch, we started talking with some of the other members of the group, including a middle-aged couple originally from Bangalore, where Sherrill and I once had quite a different kind of adventure.
Arches National Park We might not have felt so light-hearted at lunch if we'd known that we were near the remains of a uranium mill that closed only in 1960. We passed a small mountain of the dregs from the uranium mined and processed around there and saw it being loaded into barrels and put on trucks to take to a train that would carry it to bury someplace else. We weren't surprised to learn that most of the men who had worked there in the past had died of cancer.
Decades earlier, the U.S. military conducted secret above-ground atom bomb tests in a remote area of southern Nevada at the Utah border. Fallout from the tests blew across the rocky desert and several towns, causing dramatic increases of different types of cancer in the population, especially in children. In 1956, a John Wayne/ Susan Hayward epic was filmed in the desert there. By the end of 1980, 91 of the cast and crew had developed cancer and 46, including Hayward and director Dick Powell, had died of it. The red rocks and desert were beautiful, but were they still deadly?
Decades earlier, the U.S. military conducted secret above-ground atom bomb tests in a remote area of southern Nevada at the Utah border. Fallout from the tests blew across the rocky desert and several towns, causing dramatic increases of different types of cancer in the population, especially in children. In 1956, a John Wayne/ Susan Hayward epic was filmed in the desert there. By the end of 1980, 91 of the cast and crew had developed cancer and 46, including Hayward and director Dick Powell, had died of it. The red rocks and desert were beautiful, but were they still deadly?
Nearby, a panorama of petroglyph designs stretched along a canyon wall, the elegant figures chipped from the age-darkened sandstone canvas revealing a lighter orange color underneath: bighorn sheep, writhing snakes, deer, lizards, arrows, hunters, and large-eyed, wide-shouldered spirit creatures marching in militaristic rows. From time to time, we discovered other petroglyph pictures, but not as many on one stone wall.
Back in Moab, we visited a museum of local history that took us from the dinosaurs up to the John Ford western movies made there, then we dropped in on a few art galleries. After our long day of hiking over rocky trails and Moab pavement, we relaxed in a local dive, "Eddie McStiff's," with drinks and then dinner. Of course, I had another bottle of Polygamy Porter.
"Don't get addicted to that," Sherrill warned me.
"Too late!"
Back in Moab, we visited a museum of local history that took us from the dinosaurs up to the John Ford western movies made there, then we dropped in on a few art galleries. After our long day of hiking over rocky trails and Moab pavement, we relaxed in a local dive, "Eddie McStiff's," with drinks and then dinner. Of course, I had another bottle of Polygamy Porter.
"Don't get addicted to that," Sherrill warned me.
"Too late!"
Cathy, Larry, Sherrill, Bruce at the Four Corners Much ado about very little was what the four of us decided the next day about the Four Corners National Monument—even if we could stand in the four states of Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah at the same time. Mostly, it seemed an opportunity for somebody in the middle of nowhere to make money selling souvenirs. We were fascinated that so many tourists made a point of going there and taking their photographs standing at the spot where the states met.
"Well, we're here!" Sherrill pointed out.
There was no denying that we were there.
The lady from Bangalore (now from San Diego), short and somewhat plump, but very charming, had learned that I was a writer and approached me across one of the state lines with questions, her dark eyes bright with polite curiosity. She belonged to a book club, she said, and loved to read and made me give her the names of my books. Months later, I got a note from her that she had read one.
"Well, we're here!" Sherrill pointed out.
There was no denying that we were there.
The lady from Bangalore (now from San Diego), short and somewhat plump, but very charming, had learned that I was a writer and approached me across one of the state lines with questions, her dark eyes bright with polite curiosity. She belonged to a book club, she said, and loved to read and made me give her the names of my books. Months later, I got a note from her that she had read one.
Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, a UNESCO World Heritage Site We escaped from the Four Corners, driving on a steep, twisting road up the mountain toward Mesa Verde National Park—into a sudden, if brief, rainstorm followed by intense fog. The driver was skillful enough to get us through both storm and fog to the historic site at the top. Then, while we ate lunch, the skies suddenly cleared so that we visited the cliff dwellings under a blue sky. A surprisingly perfect afternoon was reinforced by the guide who took us around the site. A small trim man with white hair and moustache in the khaki uniform of the park guides, at least seventy-five years old, he launched into a fascinating account of the ups and downs of Mesa Verde.
The site, he said, had been left to crumble until the Civilian Conservation Corps that President Roosevelt established during the Depression set to work on it.
"They saved Mesa Verde," he stated, looking around at all of us. "And now President Obama's stimulation package is saving it again. Over the years, it had been ignored and allowed to fall into disrepair, but now it will last for future generations to discover and enjoy."
The site, he said, had been left to crumble until the Civilian Conservation Corps that President Roosevelt established during the Depression set to work on it.
"They saved Mesa Verde," he stated, looking around at all of us. "And now President Obama's stimulation package is saving it again. Over the years, it had been ignored and allowed to fall into disrepair, but now it will last for future generations to discover and enjoy."
Spruce Tree House, Mesa Verde I remembered the stories my father told about when he worked in the CCC during the Depression, doing forestry work in Utah. Not only did the CCC save natural resources and historic sites, it also saved thousands of young men who couldn't find work because there were no jobs for them.
Then, as we followed the white-haired guide up the steep sandstone steps to "Spruce Tree House," he segued into the story of the native Americans who lived and flourished there for more than seven hundred years. "Archaeologists called them the Anasazi, but today we call them Ancestral Puebloans." When the house was discovered in 1888, a large Douglas spruce was growing in front of it. Although the tree is long gone, he explained, the name stuck to it.
* * *
Then, as we followed the white-haired guide up the steep sandstone steps to "Spruce Tree House," he segued into the story of the native Americans who lived and flourished there for more than seven hundred years. "Archaeologists called them the Anasazi, but today we call them Ancestral Puebloans." When the house was discovered in 1888, a large Douglas spruce was growing in front of it. Although the tree is long gone, he explained, the name stuck to it.
* * *
Durango-Silverton narrow gauge train, Colorado Sherrill and I had been looking forward to riding on the historic Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. Pulled by the original coal-fired, steam-powered locomotive on the same tracks that miners and settlers took west more than a century before, the train carried us through spectacular tree-studded canyons into the wilderness of the two-million acre San Juan National Forest. The tracks were originally laid in 1870 to move the silver from mines in the Rockies and were narrow gauge (three feet between the rails instead of the standard gauge of four feet and eight inches) so the trains could make tighter turns while climbing the mountains.
"Don't look," Sherrill told me, as the train shook and rattled, swerving around sharp cliff-top curves above a rushing river. I started to protest, but she added, "And don't fuss, Wart." Her abbreviated nickname for her "Worry Wart."
"Don't look," Sherrill told me, as the train shook and rattled, swerving around sharp cliff-top curves above a rushing river. I started to protest, but she added, "And don't fuss, Wart." Her abbreviated nickname for her "Worry Wart."
Yes, I was terrified, but had to look, anyway. I didn't want to miss anything. And, of course, we survived. The boom town of Silverton died long ago, after the silver market collapsed, but tourism had revived it, somewhat. It reminded the four of us of an Alaskan mining town we'd once visited, with its wide dirt streets and nineteenth century wood buildings surrounded by snow-topped mountains.
 Colorado Rockies |  Cumbres & Toltec narrow gauge railroad, New Mexico |
We didn't enjoy leaving the hotel at 6:00 am the next morning, but we had to do it to experience another historic narrow gauge steam train: a ride on the original Rio Grande Line into the Rocky Mountains aboard the Cumbres and Toltec Railroad—only fifty miles, but a long trip through some rugged territory from Chama, New Mexico to Antonito, Colorado, the same route that gold and silver miners and loggers took in the nineteenth century. That steam locomotive did seem to be working hard as it pulled us up steep grades, over terrifyingly high trestles, through tunnels, and along narrow shelves balanced above wide-open gorges.
"I can't imagine anyone building these tracks," I told Sherrill, gazing out at the tops of trees.
"Be glad that you didn't have to."
"I am!"
"I can't imagine anyone building these tracks," I told Sherrill, gazing out at the tops of trees.
"Be glad that you didn't have to."
"I am!"
Cathy & Larry, History Museum, Santa Fe, New Mexico Sherrill and I had been to Santa Fe several times before, but the little town still charmed us—even though it had grown over the years and acquired a self-consciously "picturesque" veneer. We happily remembered when we visited there in 1995 with Simone and Paul and baby Leo. We took turns watching him, while the others explored. This time, we saw some of the more famous sites of the city, ranging from the town's east side with its "million dollar mud houses" to the Cristo Rey church, the largest adobe structure in North America, and a walk along the Old Santa Fe Trail to the San Miguel Mission and famous Loreto Chapel. However, we had someplace else in mind that we didn't want to miss: 109 East Palace Street.
This was the address of, as a plaque now read, "The Santa Fe office of the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory." The little storefront office was the place from which the people who worked on the atom bomb at Los Alamos left on their way to the project—the place from which they disappeared. They went in the front door and left by a secret back door to an alley and waiting vehicles.
The plaque continued: "All the men and women who made the first atomic bomb passed through this portal to their secret mission at Los Alamos. Their creation in 27 months of the weapons that ended World War II was one of the greatest scientific achievements of all time."
This was the address of, as a plaque now read, "The Santa Fe office of the Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory." The little storefront office was the place from which the people who worked on the atom bomb at Los Alamos left on their way to the project—the place from which they disappeared. They went in the front door and left by a secret back door to an alley and waiting vehicles.
The plaque continued: "All the men and women who made the first atomic bomb passed through this portal to their secret mission at Los Alamos. Their creation in 27 months of the weapons that ended World War II was one of the greatest scientific achievements of all time."
Cathy & Sherrill with long horn goat, Santa Fe The Southwest was one of those areas that always seemed to hold back some of its secrets, a world that both dazzled and taunted you. It seemed inevitable that we were here again, just as it seemed inevitable that we'd come back someday, at least one more time.
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
RSS Feed