Following Union Station

Our cross country trip was an attractive and fitting end to our adventure out west. Not only a time to experience warm spring air before departing to another winter, but a time to expose a truth I'd been pondering for some time.

Much of our drive had accompanied the Colorado River at our side, the very body of water that carved out the Grand Canyon we would wander. These realities along with the up close and in depth look at the Hoover Dam were in fact terrifying and the declining water levels and dried up masses of land were immense.

And then, there were the cows. Or more appropriately, the lack of cows, roaming the countryside. Every fleeting pasture of what I began to refer to as 'happy cows' had me smiling, only to be overtaken by the disappointment of caged animals no longer able to freely explore. 

So, I will withhold from opinions or argument here, saving details and views for my upcoming accounts. But as we explored the land and earth, I couldn't help but think of the place I was coming home to. For a farmer's daughter I had always been, but without thought and realization. And now, more than ever, driving along the deserted country roads, my awareness was alive.

The roads once again turned long, leaving civilization behind. The warmth that we had felt earlier that day began to dissipate and the number on the dash inched lower and lower, dropping 20 degrees in only a matter of hours. As we neared the North Dakota border and crossed the state line, the sky instantaneously turned a milky white as the car began to tense to its Colorado condition. We cranked up the heat. The roads were now glared, and the snow began to fall.

The highway soon disappeared, fading the asphalt into the snow filled fields at its sides, lashed and burdened with the wintery winds of the grueling long months. A foreign planet awaited us, its surface painted white as cool whipped layers overcame the highway, performing its final vanishing act. The engine light flashed on as we slowly finished the last hours of our third and final ten hour day. And then, just as quickly as the subzero temperatures had chilled our bones, the sight and smell of home warmed them even more the earlier days’ sunshiny rays. We put the car in park for good. We were home.

I’m not much of a gambler; other than the occasional safe gamble of a reunion at Union Station or a 400 foot jump from the air. But this capital city of gambling had been calling our names for some time and we were excited to answer to its request. The atypical feeling of the unhurried city had our grins stretch as wide as the strip as the MGM welcomed our wild searching souls. We took in the warm city air and sipped our Fat Tuesdays leading us into exactly that day of the week.

On the morning of our Hoover Dam extravaganza, Nick shared with me that this had been his childhood dream. Ever since his mother arrived home with a video of one of the Engineering Wonders of the World, he imagined one day his arrival. The crowds that waited were intense and the heat even more so. The masses of concrete heating the earth around it as we shed layers one by one waiting for our tour to take us inside. Images of what I had imaged this place to be were far from those dancing in my boyfriends’ childish head as Clark Griswold popped up in mine. The humorous overuse of ‘dam’ wore off as quickly as the rest of my clothes. “Welcome to the dam tour… take all the damn photos you want… does anyone have any dam questions?” And yet, truly a ‘magnificent achievement’ it was.

The rest of the evening, much more tolerable now, introduced us to the infamous Vegas buffets, sore stomachs and dropping jaws as we watched naked girls and midgets twirl through the air. Believe me, it was much more astonishing than I make it sound, but Vegas was a quick stint and a large break to the bank account. The late night show postponed our venture towards Fremont Street and we scurried our way back to hotel safety far too late in the night scaring us away from anymore blinking lights in the future and putting us to bed before 2:00 am. And we thought this city wasn’t supposed to sleep?

The game lies. I hardly remember such bright green cactus formations and if you were able to drive through it, it would take away a lot of the hassle. But we’d heard that the majesty of this place to almost be so intense that the mile deep canyon can appear to be flat. Unexciting was far from what we experienced as we leaned over the rails on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. It wasn’t anything like I had pictured it to be and nothing I ever could have imagined.

Legs sore from the Moab hike, we rented bikes for a quick and up-close tour of the beauty. Heavy snowfall in the months prior and lack of necessary equipment kept us from getting any closer than the ridge we road for miles. It was enough for us, for staring at its puzzlement too long seemed to almost take its wonder away. So we packed up our bikes and stored the image in our memory and headed further into the abyss. We had a short stint along Route 66 accompanied by an eerie bathroom break before we came to the long drowned out roads of Arizona leading to Nevada. The landscapes had drastically changed once again as the desert floor stretched for miles, the only excitement occurring as tumbleweeds drifted across the lingering road.

Although my adolescence proved love for the game, my current days mark an even greater love for travel. So, we said goodbye to our mountain memories and headed west. It only was a matter of hours before we emerged from the rocky landscape and the newly glistened morning we had left in the rear view mirror had become a glimpse of spring. The white and shimmery snow had now transformed to a rustic red and amber, the gray road eventually fading into its new surroundings. As the temperature rose higher and the altitude waned, the car that carried us, one far from a Ferrari or Corvette, took in a large breath of the new air. It cracked away the winter shell that had incased it for months and let the warm breeze seep into its body as we too joined in.  

By the time we hit Utah, the yearning to feel the sun’s rays and the need to stretch our legs had overcome us. We paid the National Park Service their fee and passed the gate towards Moab. Whether you’re a Christian or a pestered outdoorsman, the name strikes importance for many reasons, most of which for its breathtaking arches. The 1.5 mile stretch we took in this red rock paradise brought us past the slickrock following the cairns each step of the way. As we neared the sandstone hill, the trail slimmed and left us standing on a stone ledge. As we rounded the last turn we came upon the dramatic formation known as the Delicate Arch towering over us like the beanstalk stood at Jack’s feet. Yet, the magical land in search of had already been found.

We awoke to a loud thud, a noise we were sure to never hear again after our departure on that same day. We were leaving Breckenridge for good, to explore I-70 West, to see where the road would take us.

Just a few days earlier we had spent our last hours on the mountain. There was something so perfect about the way the sun shown at our backs as our boards carried us down, my arm grazing the melting snow as I carved hard to the left, then back to the right, turns coming together in perfect sync. We ducked into the trees leaving the sunshine behind to discover untouched terrain, pausing as we inched closer to base to stop, smile and take it all in one last time.

Just as the dynamite was lit each morning by patrol after new fallen snow, accelerating the masses before it neared its end, so too did our venture come to an end in Breckenridge.

The days leading up to our departure were spent with family as we partook in the activities we had been putting off for months. For the time it was just us two, we had buried our desires and eventually held them off until they arrived.  We set into the woods with cross country skis and snowshoes on our feet as large fluffy flakes flew down, covering us and the mountainside in a picturesque beauty. We toured the town on a warm eerie night hearing of the history and stories I was glad I hadn’t when we first arrived. We voyaged downhill completing parallel turns by the end of our ski lessons and we mushed our team of Alaskan Huskys through thick snow and home to safety. Due to surgery and an uncomfortable neck brace, unfortunately the only activity my father was able to join us in was consumption of great food and spirits. We nibbled on 10 cent shrimp at the Whale’s Tail where The Deadliest Catch crew once sat and then splurged on duck, lobster and lamb at the Briar Rose. Our tummy’s were stuffed as we slipped into a deep sleep, awakening to a new adventure and appreciation of this place each morning.  

Those few days would be the storm after the calm. We had been broadsided with my family’s arrival and each new exploration triggered a new love for this place as my appreciation accumulated. Overnight, Breckenridge had metamorphosed into a loveable place as we had become corsairs of the town, my family the hands. Aye, we had found and finally experienced the motherload.

Nearing the crow’s nest after months in hull, with new found treasure of Breckenridge accompanying us, we could now see further adventure in view and set forth toward the ocean unknown. Sail ho!