I was back for a week. The primary purpose of the visit was to see my little sister's cabaret: a final theater performance for her musical theater major, just prior to her graduation from university. That's a blog post for another time: for now, I want to talk about Colorado. The mountains, the beauty, and the chance to see a little bit of my home state that I had never before laid eyes on.
This was the starting view:
I hate the way the mountains look in photos. They're so far away that there's no way to capture how the look from Littleton, which was my childhood home. The Rockies were the dominant feature of my geography as a young person. They loom in a perfect line, always to the west. I navigated by them and always felt lucky to see them on the way to school in the morning, lit in beautiful early light, and then filling the rearview each afternoon. Nights come fast on the Eastern slope: the sun goes behind the mountains and that's the end of that.
I'm a bit of a mountain snob because of these mountains. I try to keep it in check: I've chosen to spend my adult life in different places with different mountains. Oregon, with both the Coast Range and the Cascades, offer a combination of lush forests and dramatic volcanoes that took my breath. The Irish mountains show their age a bit: not so grand in scale but absolutely beautiful when they break out of the rainclouds. But the Rocky Mountains define the term for me: beige-red-green foothills, the mid-range 'purple mountains majesties,' and the snow-capped fourteeners in the distance. They divide the North American continent and they leave visitors dizzy with elevation. Small towns prefer to advertise footage above sea level, rather than population, on the welcome signs.
So I was glad when my Colorado trip necessitated a drive over the mountains to Grand Junction, where Kelly was graduating from Mesa State. So off we went.
Colorado being the place it is, we had a sunny, cold day to start the journey. We passed the ski resort, Loveland, where I learned to ski as a little kid. Then we hit the more 'uppish' part and our ears started adjusting to the pressure difference, and we were really in the mountains.
Glenwood Canyon is now my favorite part of the drive west. Photos don't even come close, but it's worth a bit of a try. The rock faces of the mountainsides made me want to leap out an make a dash for some bouldering, or just a chance to play in that much beauty.
Once we got through to Grand Junction, we were in mesa territory. For those not hanging out in the Southwest, that's basically the base of a sandstone mountain, only with the top cut off. I didn't get any good pictures, but they certainly are a site to behold.
So then we took a spin around Colorado National Monument. We didn't have as much time as it deserved, but it's a place I've wanted to go to for a long time and had never made it until this trip.
It's the American West at it's sandstone-infused, dry landscaped best. Most of it looked like a movie set: like something fake that was set up to fool some naive audience. But it was real, and larger than life.
And here's what the Monument is really known for: the huge, eroded cliff sides that end up looking like dribbled sand. The sun was at entirely the wrong angle for me to make it look anything like as spectacular as it was, but I did my best.
And that's that: another beautiful corner of 'home' which I haven't explored as it deserves, and which merited far more time than I had. Someday I'll go back and hike all the paths and maybe even climb some rocks. For now I'm just grateful to have seen my place of origin for what it is at its best: a beautiful place with so much yet to see.