At the Top of the Continent

So, I’ve sort of let things get away from me the past month or two. Work has been unusually busy, and with it I’ve either had less free creative energy, or have been held back by anxiety. But I’m going to try to get back into the flow of writing, since I think it will be good for me, even if I am irrationally (or otherwise) afraid of mortally embarrassing myself somehow in the process.

Fortunately I haven’t traveled any since December, so I’ve not fallen further behind on travel writing - if I can use the term.

At any rate, last December I made the very silly decision to drive into snowy Colorado in my 2004 Camry. I had no trouble reaching the silent Black Canyon of the Gunnison, which has to be one of the more underrated sights in North America, given how little press it gets. Not that there’s much to do there in winter, but the stark towers dusted with snow are more than enough to justify the trip.

No, my decision to drive became silly once I had to go from Montrose to Telluride, elevation 8,750 feet. I crawled along the winding mountain passes, constantly aware of the annoyance of all the 4WDs behind me. Thankfully the road was mostly clear of snow, and entirely free of ice, but a screen of falling flakes descending on a pass made for interesting driving.

Telluride itself is a lovely town, if a bit expensive for the likes of me. There was a bookstore, which was good, but it would benefit from exchanging some of its boutique shopping for several more bookstores, in my opinion. The coffee was good, however, and the scenery cannot be beat.

The next day I repeated almost the whole of the same drive, only to continue on to Mesa Verde in time to catch the sun dying on the city walls.

That night I stayed in a tiny trailer refurbished as an airbnb. When I rose to leave at six a.m., I was amazed my car even started. It was three degrees above zero.