Colourful Colorado

Scenes of unimaginable beauty hide behind corners and over hills, turning uneventful journeys into manic photoshoots. I can’t tell you how many batteries I went through trying to capture the beauty of this state, I can however, report that I have over twelve hundred attempts saved to my hard-drive. In the interest of limited data plans, and, or, the social lives of any phantom readers, I whitted the collection down to just twenty-five, so enjoy.

When Lucan first suggested the ‘Great Sands National Park’ my minds eye suddenly went grainy, and every successive thought appeared in sepia. Speculations about the vastness of this desert dust (which lay at the end of a very long detour) only strengthened my resolve that we skip it. Thankfully, we didn’t, and better still, my terracotta terrors proved totally unseasonal; because what actually met us were rolling hills of thick, white snow. Although the scene was undeniably beautiful, the tedious chore of locating and then donning my scarf, gloves, boots, hat, socks and coat did make me a little reluctant to venture too far in; that was until Lucan started blowing up our inflatable toys. Once they were ready to go, so was I.

Tube in hand, we started on our three hour hike to the top of the highest peak, with a few breaks along the way for photos and trial runs. My cumbersome accessory seemed like a burden going up, but proved the perfect tool for a rapid descent, and by rapid, I mean meteoric. If only I’d packed one of these before my yomp through the Himalayas, eh Tori?

Our second day was a lesson in the perils of vertigo, which ironically manifest less than forty foot off the ground. To contextualise, (and save face,) we were scaling a building that demands all guests sign a waiver before entering.

A majestic wrought iron staircase ascends three stories, connecting the front garden to a network of balconies and adjoining stairs, allowing intrigued guests to ascend the whole thing without setting a foot inside. The attention to detail is breathtaking, as is the view through any balcony floor. Faith in the anonymous mason was all that prevented us from retreating inside, but what we found when we eventually surrendered, was even more spectacular than anything we could have imagined. Hidden behind thick, stone walls were the grandest of rooms. Huge ceilings were held up by beautiful wooden trestles, deliberately exposed to engender yet more gasps. As we made our way upstairs, we found a mosaic of colour cast onto the floor by walls of stained glass. Each pane bore the insignia of it’s donor, reading things like “Our favourite place”; or “Thank you for being here”; “In memory of Grandma; she loved this place”. It was only once we were back on the ground floor that truly began to understand the significance of this place.

Eccentric anti-government rhetoric decorates the garden, but takes on a more solemn tone in the foyer. Here, John Bishop, the owner, architect and builder recounts how he built ‘Bishops Castle’ simply because he wanted to. For the length of its construction the government have tried to tear it down. They have been relentless in their efforts and have even gone so far as to falsely accuse him of firing a weapon inside the building. This went to court, but he was deemed innocent. The same government that he lambasts in the garden have since put his son in prison, for unjustified reasons. He draws the narrative to a close by pleading for help, making this place a real haunting masterpiece. I can’t be sure of what has happened, but all I do know, is that if anyone you happen to drive down the Frontier Pathway be sure to stop, this place is grandeur in its purest form.

Our next stop was Colorado Springs, which surprised us with it’s paradoxes: first there were the friendly cyclists who provided us with directions and showers; then there was the renovated Elementary School which now features a brewery, bar and restaurant; and finally, paying our bill at the mechanics after five hours was entirely resentment free.

From there we drove to Denver and Boulder, but swept through both fairly quickly as we were keen to see the Arapaho National Forest. After crossing the park boundary, it was a full day before we saw another car again, thankfully we had a few Amy Winehouse albums to keep us/me entertained.

Our first encounter with Colorado snow was on the Loveland Pass, which, for the record, rivals the Icefields Parkway as one of the most scenic routes on our trip. It might not be as long as its Canadian contender, but it’s just as magical. I was quite content with admiring its beauty from the warmth of the van, but Lucan had other ideas. Once at the top, he strapped himself into his snowboard, tucked a walkie-talkie into his pocket, and waved goodbye. Our expectations of a ten minute descent proved wildly inaccurate, when, after two hours he still wasn’t back. By the time he emerged, his stomach was grumbling and his arms were weak from army crawling through ten foot powder. It should therefore come as no surprise that the rest of our journey to Breckenridge was rather quiet.

As puerile as it sounds, my only conscious attraction to Colorado before we arrived was inspired by the Dumb and Dumber movie. In it, the cast visit Aspen, and although I can’t recollect the scenes, I can remember the fascination it inspired. That sentiment lasted right up until we got there, and then it quickly morphed into disappointment. That being said, there are plenty of charming spots, Breckenridge and Telluride were two in partiular that we remember for their deep snow and genuine people.The latter especially, has retained its rustic charm, by containing the urbanisation and protecting the surrounding greenery. It’s main street is short, but a free gondola over the mountains and into the village reveals a secret realm of gloriousness that you otherwise wouldn’t know was there. Breckenridge on the other hand is much larger, and definitely geared towards tourists, which meant that it was much busier, but offered a free music show and a garden of ice sculptures.

Ouray was the smallest town we visited, but arguably one of the best. At this time of year ice climbing is the sport of choice, although I don’t understand the appeal myself. The weather can be so capricious, I couldn’t imagine relying on a frozen icicle to support my weight. Instead we opted for an afternoon in a quaint bar, where we learned about the art of brewing. One of the locals also managed to convince us to make the trip to Silverton, along the ‘fifth most dangerous road in America’ according to him. Whilst I’m not so sure about his claim, I’m glad that we did it, and I’d definitely recommend it.

Our last stop before leaving this organic wonderland was Mesa Verde National Park which had Lucan so excited I thought I was going to lose him to a Pueblo dwelling forever. The very fact that people lived here once is utterly mind-blowing. I still can’t comprehend how they managed it. Today we think a five storey house is tall, and yet they were scrambling up and down sandstone cliffs every time they needed supplies.