This post is about one particular subject but in accordance with who I am, I've mixed in a side-street story.
Main road...
We left our cozy little spot near the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument (Utah) on Friday and headed out to Grand Junction, CO. This section of the Earth is full of utterly fantastic rock formations, what we called Big Geology in college, and lonely highways. Just before making the ultimate turn south toward GJ, we stopped at a one-pump gas station on a corner to fill up. The gas station had your typical small market, filled with absolutely nothing but "food" guaranteed to shorten your lifespan by10 years if consumed, and an attached but separate souvenir store.
Here is where the side-street story begins...
While the gas was pumping itself, I walked over to the souvenir store, hoping to grab a little dinosaur-related memento for someone back home or a decorative dino sticker for Stevie. The sign on the door said Open, but the dark front-store windows said, "Stay away!" I went in.
This is the moment during a scary movie when the watcher yells out, "Do not go in. Do not go in. Oh! You stupid idiot. Now, you're going to die."
It was hauntingly dusky inside and person-less. Barely past the threshold, I scanned my eyes over the contents. Not what I was expecting. No displays of hokey souvenirs. No dino stickers. No rock samples. No lollipops.
This place was full of souvenirs alright, what some people might call antiques, others might call trinkets, and some might call junk. Dusty shelves of used items from days ago. Items once treasured and loved, but now lost or forgotten. And, probably...precious gold bands slid from the fingers of strangled victims, lockets ripped from the throats of the tortured and murdered, favorite toys plucked from the cribs of stolen children. Like a collection of trophies from various serial killers or at least one that was very, very prolific. This place was creep-E.
I backed the f*ck out the door. (You can exhale.) But, just as I exited, the personification of this collection of horrors appeared from the side of the building. "Hello visitor. Goodbye visitor. Don't you want to come back in?"
"No thank you," said I. "My dog is freaking out in the car <points to car>. Gotta go."
Back to the main road...
Having just spared my own life, we drove south.
Back to the side-street story...
I was imagining that I had almost ended up buried alive, after experiencing all sorts of terrors, like the woman in that movie from the '90s, who is kidnapped by Jeff Bridges at the gas station. Henry would be abandoned all alone in my vehicle at the dusty one-pump gas station. Jason would eventually come get him, and they would spend the next decade trying to find me. Etc.
Back to the main road...
Have you ever heard of State Highway 139 in Colorado? Highway. Don't be fooled. It's a 72-mile two-lane road, mostly providing access to areas no one wants to visit (although the sights along the road are pretty nice). Once you get on this road, there is really no way off until you get to the end. The road is textured, and what I mean is that it's bumpy and rolly and patchy and twisty and turny. It's not so great.
For much of its length, the speed limit is 65 mph. Bouncing along this road, 65 mph seemed like a long shot. But, the few other southbound folks on this road were exceeding this mark, passing me by. Good for them. I had just escaped death, and I was not about to throw out that bit of good luck by driving faster than 10 mph under the speed limit.
Henry snoozed off and on, while I listened to a podcast.
The RPMs were dropping. We must be climbing. I geared down.
Still, the few southbounders passed me by.
The speed limit signs started to display smaller and smaller numbers. 60. 50. 45. 30. 25.
Just as I hit some roadwork (Guys. You missed a mile or 50 back there.), I looked up to see a giant mass of a mountain with what could only be a person-made line etched along its face, sloping up and around its edges. We're headed to a mountain pass. No thank you!!
A few years ago, I had to answer a question: What is your greatest fear? I couldn't think of any. Fear is not my thing.
Bah! I'd forgotten about driving over mountain passes. I fear this, my one fear.
There was no snow on the road. No ice. No sand. The road was perfectly clear (minus its underpinnings), but it was steep. I geared down and took it slow. Forget the 10-mph safety reduction, if I was going to make it over this beast, I needed every mph I could get. We crept up and up and around hairpin turns. Exhaled on the few flatter spots. Henry and I were both white-knuckling this climb.
Finally (at least what I was hoping was finally), we approached what must be the top of the pass, but where did the road go? I could not see the continuation of the road to what I prayed was the other side, the side that goes down.
One little northbound vehicle popped over the edge. Here came a truck. Both vehicles going pretty slow. We must be at the top of the pass.
The top of Douglas Pass is like a roller coaster ride. Chunka chunka chunka chunk..a chunk....a. Can't see anything over the edge....!!! Swish! Over the top.
Oh! Thank gawd.
Oh! Gawd! Brake! Brake! Brake!
Hairpin-turn followed by a series of hairpin turns. Steepness for the next 10 miles, the sign said. Another sign said "No Trespassing." This sign seemed unnecessary. I'm fairly sure we're all doing our best here not to trespass straight down the 1000 feet of air and jagged boulders, buddy.
Speed limit signs started going up in number, as the road straightened and flattened. Ahhhhh! What a relief.
We pulled over at a turnout on the side of the road and got out to walk it off. The smell of hot brakes was sharp. I patted my vehicle. "Good job Dolly!"
The rare northbound vehicles that passed us by at this spot were traveling well beyond the speed limit. Good for them. I know they need a good running start at this thing. I was rooting for them.
I've been told that this pass is nothing compared to others in Colorado. No thank you! As breathtaking as Colorado is, I’m not ready to take my last breath. We are exiting Colorado and its mountain passes this week.
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