I had a free Saturday, so there was a pretty good excuse again for a ride. I had an idea that I cooked up a few days earlier, so I was anxious to give it a shot.
My route was from Colorado Springs to Penrose; from there I would travel west to Salida, then north to Buena Vista. My home stretch was eastbound back to Colorado Springs. When I mapped it out on the computer, the distance came out to 220 miles. I think I planned this route because I really enjoy highway 50, which travels adjacent to the Arkansas River through a canyon, and parallel to a railroad track, which was an active passenger rail for many years. The railway was home to the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad, which started its leg in Pueblo and ended in Grand Junction, connecting to the Rio Grande Western Railroad. The railroad was completed in 1883, and was an active passenger line until it eventually became a tourist trap.
I started a little later than I wanted to, because I had new saddle bags on my motorcycle that I had to make sure were secure. To say ‘new’ is a bit of an overstatement-they were new to me, because I bought them at a used motorcycle part store. I did hit the road at about 10 AM, taking my familiar route along highway 115 to Penrose. I enjoy this area, because I believe that little about it has changed over the past two or three hundred years, except-most notably, the asphalt of the road that has been paved through it.
From there, I headed out west, passing the Fremont County Airport. This airport is familiar to me, because I have been skydiving and landing at this place. As I rode by, I saw a couple of parachutes overhead. One of the skydivers was enjoying his dive by performing some very wide spins. I remember a jump that I did last year, when I also did a wide spin. It scared me when I did it, because it meant that my body and the parachute were horizontal. What scared me appeared to be nothing but fun to the guy doing the jumping. I was envious.
The road took me in to Canon City, and beyond to the Royal Gorge area. After that, I was along side of the Arkansas River on one side, and a steep canyon wall on the other. I stopped along the way to watch the whitewater rafting. There were hundreds of people out on the inflatable rafts, each enjoying the adventure of an extreme sport.
I reached Salida after an hour and a half on the road. I had driven past Salida a few years ago, but I have never stopped in the town to have a look. I had been missing this. The town has been in Colorado since 1880, when the Denver & Rio Grande railroad made it a stopping point. It then became a hub for the expansive mining and farming in the area. The old buildings that are still standing captured my attention. On the keystone of most of the buildings, there is a year of construction, and on some, a name of the builder. I’m certain they built these structures hoping that they would last forever, but did they seriously think that the buildings would be standing over a hundred years later?
I was also interested in the signs on the sides of buildings. These had been painted, and in some cases, painted over. It was kind of funny to look at the Snow Drift sign that had been covered with a Coca Cola advertisement.
After I ate a hot dog and chatted with an antique shop owner, I headed back out. Highway 121 went from Salida to 285, which was my next leg. This road ran along the east side of the Sawatch Range, home of Mount Shavano, Antero, Princeton, and others. In this valley, there were more whitewater rafters out, and little traffic to compete with.
I did have to stop to capture another piece of history, with an old schoolhouse that was still standing. I didn’t get too close to the building because of the it did look like it had been transformed in to someone's home, but would have liked to. The swing set next to the building did not look to be older than 50 or so years, leading me to believe that it may have been put there by the school when it was active. I’d like to know for sure.
My final leg took me from just south of Buena Vista back to the Springs. I passed a couple of motorcyclists who had stopped to put on their rain suits. I didn’t think that was necessary, so I did not bother with mine. In five miles, I stopped to do the same. The rain wasn’t hard, but it penetrated my jeans, and the cool wind felt amplified. I started traversing the basin between the Sawatch mountain range and the western side of the Front Range.
I stopped to photograph an old home that had been abandoned at some time.
I also passed areas so desolate, that I wondered: given any random square yard out in this vast area, how many humans throughout history had actually stepped in that spot? A dozen? Fewer? Even more haunting: would someone in two or three hundred years fly over that area in his space ship and think the same thought?
I made it back to town at 3:30 PM, and finally pulled off my rain suit. I had traveled 229 miles.
My route was from Colorado Springs to Penrose; from there I would travel west to Salida, then north to Buena Vista. My home stretch was eastbound back to Colorado Springs. When I mapped it out on the computer, the distance came out to 220 miles. I think I planned this route because I really enjoy highway 50, which travels adjacent to the Arkansas River through a canyon, and parallel to a railroad track, which was an active passenger rail for many years. The railway was home to the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad, which started its leg in Pueblo and ended in Grand Junction, connecting to the Rio Grande Western Railroad. The railroad was completed in 1883, and was an active passenger line until it eventually became a tourist trap.
I started a little later than I wanted to, because I had new saddle bags on my motorcycle that I had to make sure were secure. To say ‘new’ is a bit of an overstatement-they were new to me, because I bought them at a used motorcycle part store. I did hit the road at about 10 AM, taking my familiar route along highway 115 to Penrose. I enjoy this area, because I believe that little about it has changed over the past two or three hundred years, except-most notably, the asphalt of the road that has been paved through it.
From there, I headed out west, passing the Fremont County Airport. This airport is familiar to me, because I have been skydiving and landing at this place. As I rode by, I saw a couple of parachutes overhead. One of the skydivers was enjoying his dive by performing some very wide spins. I remember a jump that I did last year, when I also did a wide spin. It scared me when I did it, because it meant that my body and the parachute were horizontal. What scared me appeared to be nothing but fun to the guy doing the jumping. I was envious.
The road took me in to Canon City, and beyond to the Royal Gorge area. After that, I was along side of the Arkansas River on one side, and a steep canyon wall on the other. I stopped along the way to watch the whitewater rafting. There were hundreds of people out on the inflatable rafts, each enjoying the adventure of an extreme sport.
I reached Salida after an hour and a half on the road. I had driven past Salida a few years ago, but I have never stopped in the town to have a look. I had been missing this. The town has been in Colorado since 1880, when the Denver & Rio Grande railroad made it a stopping point. It then became a hub for the expansive mining and farming in the area. The old buildings that are still standing captured my attention. On the keystone of most of the buildings, there is a year of construction, and on some, a name of the builder. I’m certain they built these structures hoping that they would last forever, but did they seriously think that the buildings would be standing over a hundred years later?
I was also interested in the signs on the sides of buildings. These had been painted, and in some cases, painted over. It was kind of funny to look at the Snow Drift sign that had been covered with a Coca Cola advertisement.
After I ate a hot dog and chatted with an antique shop owner, I headed back out. Highway 121 went from Salida to 285, which was my next leg. This road ran along the east side of the Sawatch Range, home of Mount Shavano, Antero, Princeton, and others. In this valley, there were more whitewater rafters out, and little traffic to compete with.
I did have to stop to capture another piece of history, with an old schoolhouse that was still standing. I didn’t get too close to the building because of the it did look like it had been transformed in to someone's home, but would have liked to. The swing set next to the building did not look to be older than 50 or so years, leading me to believe that it may have been put there by the school when it was active. I’d like to know for sure.
My final leg took me from just south of Buena Vista back to the Springs. I passed a couple of motorcyclists who had stopped to put on their rain suits. I didn’t think that was necessary, so I did not bother with mine. In five miles, I stopped to do the same. The rain wasn’t hard, but it penetrated my jeans, and the cool wind felt amplified. I started traversing the basin between the Sawatch mountain range and the western side of the Front Range.
I stopped to photograph an old home that had been abandoned at some time.
I also passed areas so desolate, that I wondered: given any random square yard out in this vast area, how many humans throughout history had actually stepped in that spot? A dozen? Fewer? Even more haunting: would someone in two or three hundred years fly over that area in his space ship and think the same thought?
I made it back to town at 3:30 PM, and finally pulled off my rain suit. I had traveled 229 miles.
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