• 1996 and earlier outing diary
• 1997 outing diary
• 1998 outing diary
• 1999 outing diary
• 2001 outing diary
• 2002 outing diary
• 2003 outing diary
• 2004 outing diary
• 2005 outing diary

Stoddard Cabin (part 1)
Sunday, December 31, 2000

The snow was pretty deep--and it was even now still coming down lightly from the sky--and I was very excited about it. Nakita loved it too. We put on our cross-country skis and it took us a while to get things together, but finally we did and headed down the trail towards the cabin. There were tracks from other skiers that had come through earlier in the day, and we even saw a couple on the way in, so we didn't have to break the trail ourselves. We did cross a suspension bridge over the Dead Diamond River which was a bit scary, though. It didn't have much more than the suspension cable and a single rope to prevent one from falling off and down to the river below should one happen to lose balance. The river wasn't that big--maybe 15 meters wide and only a few meters down from the bridge--and it was frozen over, but I dare say it may not have held the weight of a person. Falling down there could've been very dangerous to one's health, and we aren't exactly pros on skis, so it made us all nervous. Even 'Kita was a bit worried, though probably because the suspension bridge shook a lot when you walked on it.

We were very careful, and a couple of us even took off our skis and walked across, but we did finally make it. The rest of the way was a breeze, and the total distance was a little under a kilometer from where we parked. Actually, the last 40 meters were up a steep hill to the front porch of the cabin, and that was a challenge too. We finally arrived and got inside at about 17:00. It was a fantastic cabin, with lots of space inside and a high ceiling. Actually, the design made me wonder just how difficult it might be to heat in the winter, but we would soon find out that it wasn't so bad.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any daylight left to do anything active, so we got a fire going and cooked up some dinner. After eating, we relaxed around the woodstove and chatted, getting sleepy quite fast. Jon suggested, several times if I recall, that we should pop the cork on the bottle of champagne that we'd brought and celebrate early. It was only 21:00. We held out a little longer, then started playing cards and dice games, and cracked open the bubbly. We drank it well in advance of midnight, but kept playing games and trying to stay awake. Jon turned on his shortwave radio and we found lots of stations, but none which seemed to care anything about celebrating the new year. Finally, at about 00:03, Jon looked at his watch and proclaimed that the New Year had come. We spent all of 10 seconds being excited about it and then headed straight to bed in the loft. Looking outside, the snow was still coming down lightly.

[Be sure to read part 2!]

Hellhole Canyon
Saturday, December 9, 2000

Cabot
Saturday, December 2, 2000

We continued up as the slope increased, though only for a few short stretches did it get very steep. We took a break for a snack at one time, but my hands got so cold so quickly that I found myself doing jumping jacks to stay warm within a couple of minutes, and so we didn't waste time getting going again. The trail in front of us was nothing but untouched, perfect, deep snow. It almost felt bad to be destroying it with our footprints. Before long we reached the junction with the spur trail to The Horn, a high point with supposedly good views. It was only a few tenths of a mile, and so we decided to go up it, though in retrospect it may not have been in our best interest. It seemed like a lot longer distance than it should have been, and in my frustration I ran much of the way, and nearly gave up a few times. We probably should've saved our energy, but we finally did make it there. We were surrounded by cloudiness, but we could just see the summit of Cabot not far away, as well as another nearby spur peak. The snow made it was a gorgeous view, even if limited in distance.

We continued along the trail, and my legs were getting extremely tired, so Jon took over the lead for a while. In fact, it didn't seem like too much longer before we reached the summit, somewhat to my surprise--I didn't think we'd gained enough elevation yet. But I had no complaints, and we sat down for a little while to eat our frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There were no views from the top, aside from the constant ones of the snow-laden trees. We were cold and it was getting late--around 14:00, so we got going without too much delay. Going down was much easier, though exhaustion was really setting in, so we didn't go quite as quickly as one normally would on such a hike. The trip out was pretty uneventful, except that crossing the streams in the dark with a headlamp on was moderately challenging. We'd hoped to get across them before dark, but didn't quite make it. The last stretch out seemed to take forever, since all we could think about was being done. Finally, around 18:00, we made it to the car. It had been an incredible day--over 12 miles traveled in deep, unbroken snow.

Tecumseh
Saturday, November 11, 2000

Evans Notch area
Saturday - Sunday, October 21-22, 2000

We hit the trail around 08:00, headed for South Baldface, our first destination. The trail was pleasant and quiet. Early on we encountered some peculiar red-painted trees and rocks which left us wondering how and why they got that way. [John inspects the trees.] With leaf season gone by, before long we could see through the often barren deciduous trees to the rocky side of the mountain ahead. It was a perfectly clear day, and the temperature was comfortable. We first reached a shelter along the way which afforded excellent views of the tough work we had ahead of us. From there the steep rocky ascent began, but it was great fun! The chunky, geometric boulders required lots of hand-and-foot scrambling, while the whole time there were fantastic views to the hilly east at our back. It took a while, but we finally made it to what I'd originally thought was the summit of South Baldface, only to find that it was just a shoulder of the true summit. At this point there were tons of pieces of loose rock which had broken of in thick, flat sheets. We stopped to take in the magnificent views and John rested on a makeshift stone bench. We soon continued the short hike up to the summit where we stopped for a snack. The wind was blowing so we moved on before long.

We were pretty hungry, so we moved on out of the wind not far from the summit and chomped away on kielbasa, crackers, and cheese, our longtime hiking staples. While eating we were occupied with the plight of an apparently kamikaze moth who was flying haphazardly into everything in sight, including me and the ground. After filling up we continued through a col and over to North Baldface. Near the summit we encountered a group of maybe five women, the first hikers we'd seen all day. We stopped again only briefly at the summit before continuing north along the ridge. [Looking out from the summit.] [Views to the northeast from the North Baldface summit.] We still had a long way to go, though the toughest hiking was behind us. We passed two other men before long, each hiking alone (and one with a guitar), but after that the wilderness was all ours. We enjoyed the open views along the ridge for quite a while before trees finally reappeared. The forest was pleasant, though the trail signs were at times ambiguous and we spent at least ten minutes in one spot trying to figure out where we were supposed to go. After a bit of worrying that we'd missed an intersection, we figured it all out and continued on our way.

We were tiring quickly, and John was having bad luck on his feet, slipping a few times and nearly injuring himself. Nothing besides a few scrapes and dirty clothes resulted, though, so we continued on. We finally reached a pass which broke the ridgeline, and descended to a junction at the low point. We rested for quite a while and seriously considered whether or not to continue on or find a place to set up camp. It had begun to get windy and clouds came out of nowhere from the east. We'd seen one or two hovering over Mount Washington earlier, and it seems there were more behind it. This did not bode well, though the forecast had said nothing of bad weather. It was only 14:00, though it felt much later. There was a shelter nearby, but after a lengthy rest we finally decided to press on. It would've been easy to stop there, but doing so would sacrifice a major part of the hike which we'd had planned. As we started up the trail toward West Royce Mountain, we quickly realized that this trail was rarely used. It was covered with tons of leaves, branches, and other debris, and had hardly a blaze. The wind was still whipping, though we were protected in the trees. It was unclear where the weather was going to go, but it didn't seem to be getting worse at least.

We ascended quickly and soon were back up on the ridgeline. Despite our tired conditions, we made excellent time and after a while we reached the summit of West Royce. Disappointingly, we saw a bunch of waste paper in the woods here and there, but otherwise it was a nice summit. The weather was still holding steady, perhaps calming down if anything. The trail improved greatly as we began to ascend, indicating clearly that most hikers climb this mountain from the opposite direction that we did. It was pretty steep down, but not long at all before we reached another col where we'd decided to look for a place to pitch our tent. We soon found a decent spotted next to a huge rock wall and another massive boulder. I felt pretty good considering the long day, and we soon had the tent up and dinner cooking. We ate heartily as darkness fell upon us, and wasted no time in getting to sleep after that. It was only around 19:00 or 19:30.

During the night I slept fairly well, though woke up once or twice to hear the wind blowing incredibly hard through the treetops high above us. It was very loud! We finally rose at about 07:00, and it was chilly out. We wasted no time in breaking camp, and skipped out on cooking oatmeal for breakfast so we could get moving. We headed on down towards Evans Notch, past the spur trail for East Royce. As soon as we found a brook, we replenished our water supply. [John and Lucy in a leafy corridor.] We passed an interesting little waterfall, and then before we knew it we were at the trailhead on Route 113. [The waterfall from below.] There were two people at their car prepared to start hiking--the first people we'd seen in over 20 hours. We crossed the road and started up toward Blueberry Ledge. It was still very cold and we kept on more layers than yesterday. I wondered if perhaps the clouds which blew through last night were at a cold front that was coming through. As we began to work our way uphill again, I realized we were probably close to crossing the state line into Maine. I asked John to take a look at the map and to my surprise we were well past the border. In fact, the place where we'd set up camp was so incredibly close to the state line that we weren't entirely sure what state we'd spent the night in! (We wondered if perhaps our tent was even straddling the line!) Soon afterward we passed a sign indicating that we were entering the Caribou-Speckled Mountain Wilderness. We continued uphill beyond the sign, briefly breaking out into song--the theme to The Jeffersons TV show was our tune. We were making our way towards Mount Ames, stopping here and there for a drink or snack and enjoying the varying flora, especially the dark pine forests.

We moved steadily along and it wasn't long before we reached the Blueberry Ridge Trail, which we headed on down. The ridge itself isn't terribly high--2,000-something feet--but the views were superb. To the east we could see the hills and lakes of Maine, and to the west the mountain range we'd been on yesterday, with the Carter Range behind that and the Presidentials further still. The open rocky ridge was a lot of fun to hike on, and eventually we stopped to cook lunch and savor the views. The weather was beautiful again, though the air remained crisp. We fried up some kielbasa and added it to some noodles for a delicious lunch. After a nice break, we continued on down the ridge, eventually dipping into denser trees. At one point we scared a pheasant (or partridge?) which retreated to a tree branch just a few meters about the trail ahead of us. We carefully crept up to it, and John kept Lucy in check, though she seemed oblivious. John snapped a few pictures, and made his way underneath to the other side of the branch. Eventually I came over too, and John asked me to scare it with a pebble so he could get one last picture. I tossed some tiny pebbles hoping to get it to move, but gave up when I thunked it right on the side of its body and it still didn't move! John gave up, too, and we moved on.

We soon passed a group of four hikers, the first we'd seen since the parking lot. What we didn't realize at that they were the first of many. We soon reached a junction with a few other trails which are apparently very popular. We were down pretty low in elevation by now, so a lot of hikers not wishing to climb any big peaks come through this area, so it seemed, which contained much exposed rock--the kind of stuff I loved to play on as a kid. We said hello and chatted with a few different folks before making our way to the White Cairn Trail. We never saw a white cairn (nor any more people, to our surprise), but there were excellent views down into the valley where we'd begun our hike the previous day.

The trail descended very steeply over leaf-engulfed rocks, making it a bit tricky at times, but before long it levelled out. As we were making our way through the quiet forest, I suddenly spotted a strange creature on the trail a few feet in front of me. I stopped immediately and grabbed Lucy so she wouldn't scare it. It was a black salamander, much larger than any I'd ever seen before. It was perhaps six inches long and had yellow spots on its back. We stared at it in curiosity for a few minutes and took pictures. I moved it to a safer place off the trail and then we continued on. We soon passed a small bridge over some wet ground, and then arrived at a dirt road where the trail ended.

We marched down the trail a ways towards Route 113. We saw a handful of other tourist types along the way. Before the road reached 113, though, another trail headed into the woods towards the AMC Cold River Camp and our parking area. We started in, enjoying the easy woods walk. We followed the Cold River, which was beautiful with the sun illuminating it through the trees. We stopped to let Lucy have a drink at one point not long before we reached a dam where we'd cross the river. Just before the crossing was a junction, and I noticed a sign not far down the other trail so I went to take a look. The signs were for some other nearby paths, but on the way over I found a three-foot high stone pillar coming out of the ground. It contained a survey marker from the 1920's and it was marking the state line. I'd forgotten that we were about to cross back into New Hampshire. John came over and we snapped a picture in front of some older markers on the nearby trees. The dam across the river was interesting--at one end were interesting old stone steps and a big old millstone. The dam itself had a 10-foot gap in the middle to allow water through, and there was a narrow metal plank across for hikers. Lucy didn't like the plank at all, but she eventually made it across. In addition to the 10-foot notch in the middle, there were numerous other notches along the way which we had to step over. They were to let the water through when the level rose higher, apparently.

After crossing the dam, we found a junction with signs pointing us back to the parking lot. Following them, we soon realized we were on the grounds of the AMC Cold River Camp. We'd found a screened in gazebo nestled between the pines along the river. Not long after that final landmark we reached the parking lot. Today's hike, though not short, did not wear on us nearly as much as yesterday's. We finished feeling good and very happy to have had yet another successful trip.

LT: Appalachian Gap to Jonesville
Friday - Sunday, October 13-15, 2000

Le Tour de Foliage IV
Saturday, September 30, 2000

We planned out the same route as used in Le Tour de Foliage III, and so began at the Raquette Lake school parking lot. We strapped our helmets on, checked our brakes, and took to the road at about 10:30. First we headed up Sagamore Road towards the camp. Nakita was exerting a great effort to keep up, and we made an effort not to work her too hard on the downhills. We started right in without any warm-up, which probably was not a wise idea. Susie was powering up the big hills, but after a brief dizzy spell, we decided to slow down and let our heart rates slowly get up to speed. [Heading up Sagamore Road] We soon reached the bridge over the first brook, where we took a break and Nakita got a drink. Ron speculated about the kind of fish one might catch here, and I was able to confirm his guesses since Dad has brought me here several times, pole in hand. We soon continued toward the camp. Upon reaching the gift shop, we took a bathroom break and Ron waited in one of the comfy Adirondack chairs out on the lawn. Then we headed on down the road toward Mohegan Lake. [BJ] [Ron] [Susie and Nakita]

We were there in practically no time at all, and I took everyone on a couple of short side excursions. First, we stopped in the big field on the right, where we guess that there must have been logging or something back on the days of yore. We noticed that Susie had a nice black streak of grease across here chin, though no one could quite figure out how it had gotten there. [Ron and Susie pause on the trail] So far, the weather was gorgeous--sunny, warm, and a slight breeze. After a moment or two in the field, we continued a bit further to my favorite spot on Mohegan Lake, with the tall pines and the long needle-carpeted ground. We spent a while there, just relaxing and having the sandwiches that we'd made for lunch. It was quiet, peaceful, and beautiful there, as always. And what would such a serene experience be without a little wrestling. After filling our bellies and chatting for a while, we saddled up again.

We continued down the road a ways further, crossed a bridge, and then followed the Old Uncas Road trail when it turned off into the woods. A lot of the trees that had blocked the trail in the last couple of years had been removed, so we had a nice little cruise on through the woods. Early on were several uphills, a bunch of which we couldn't all quite make it up, but it wasn't long until we reached the high point on the trail. From there it was an easy glide all the way down to Route 28. The fall colors were bright in many places--not quite peak (in fact, still very green in some places), but beautiful nonetheless--as we coasted down through the deciduous parts of the forest. When we reached Route 28, which we had to follow for about two miles, we decided to walk, since Nakita was with us and we wanted her leashed. [The fun trail down to Route 28 drove Chris silly.] There was quite a lot of traffic, and this part of the trip wasn't much fun. I had forgotten exactly how long it was that we had to follow the road, and it seemed to take forever. Luckily, the weather was still wonderful, and everyone was patient. It took nearly 45 minutes, but we finally arrived at where the trail reentered the woods between the Eighth Lake and the Brown Tract Inlet. Before biking, we took a nice long break and snacked some more. It was a pretty tiring day so far, but we still had quite a ways to go.

Eventually we hoisted ourselves up off the ground and started into the woods again. We cruised along the wavy rolling trail and went straight on to the spur trail to the Brown Tract Inlet. We rode out on the planks just for fun, then turned around and made a right turn to cut over towards Upper Pond. It was a short ride to the pond, which Ron and Susie recognized from our visit to the area last fall, and despite our recent rest, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to bask in the bright sun on the sandy shore for a while. Ron, who like the rest of us was complaining of sore butt syndrome, claimed to have found the ideal seat upon which to rest. In the tradition of a toilet bowl, he explained, there were two tree roots forming somewhat of a circle with an empty space in the middle. His sensitive derriere could therefore be suspended in midair between the roots, avoiding contact with anything that might irritate it further. Ron was clearly quite proud of his find, and proclaimed its superiority several times. [BJ and Ron] [Nakita likes the beach too] [BJ naps]

After a while, we continued on into the woods again. We moved right along, as it was mid-afternoon and we wanted to be sure to get back before dark. It was a nice ride through the woods, without too many ups and downs. At some point, I switched bikes with Ron. I'd rented one from Omer & Bob's bike shop, since I'd procrastinated too much on getting mine fixed. The bike they'd loaned me was fantastic, and I really noticed the difference when I switched to Ron's, which was somewhat smaller. We continued on down the trail all the way to the shore of Raquette Lake, where we paused for a while to take in the scenery and feed some crumbs to two passing ducks. When we ran out of crumbs, we took to harassing the fowl with projectiles. Don't worry, we never hit them.

We didn't stay too long, though, before turning around to return to the junction from which we would cut across to the Brown Tract Road--by far the most rugged, difficult leg of the trip. At some point around this time--probably before we reached Raquette Lake, actually--Chris began having technical difficulties with one of his shifters. A cable had snapped and so he was relegated to using just a few gears. With the most technical leg of the trip upcoming, this was not a welcome complication. We soon reached the turnoff, and before we knew it we were battling our way through mud, roots, rocks, and steep hills, both up and down. There was plenty of walking to be done on this section of the trail. Frustration was in the air, but we knew we were almost finished, so we pushed on. To my surprise, we bumped into two other bikers about halfway along. I'm not sure what they were doing, but they were parked and making a hasty effort to pick some things up and get out of our way. They seemed surprised to see us as well, and we suspected that perhaps we caught them at an inopportune moment. It was hard to say, though it was clear that they weren't typical mountain bikers. They struck me as someone I might expect to see in a park in Paris. Of course, I've never been to Paris, but I've seen movies. I think it was the guy's hat that made him look French. But anyway.

We slopped, slogged, trudged our way through the all but unridable trail until before we knew it we were at the road. It was nearing 18:00, and we had only a short cruise through town ahead of us. We coasted down past the lake, the general store, and the church and in no time flat we were back at the school. We cut across the baseball field over to our cars, completing a very long, tough journey, though not without its rewards. We'd had some difficulties and worked ourselves sore, but the Tour provided, as always, beautiful scenery, exercise, and fun. We returned immediately to camp, where we wasted little time finding comfortable chairs and beds in which to crash for the evening. Though we'd made full preparation for an evening of fun, I daresay we decided to postpone the festivities for another day.

Whiteface
Sunday, September 17, 2000

LT: Sherburne Pass to Clarendon Gorge
Saturday - Sunday, September 9-10, 2000

Smarts
Friday - Saturday, September 1-2, 2000

Kayaking on Fourth Lake
Saturday, August 26, 2000

LT: Middlebury Gap to Appalachian Gap
Thursday - Sunday, August 10-13, 2000

The next morning when we hit the trail the weather was still beautiful. We made our way through along the 3500-foot ridgeline and eventually stopped to eat on a little rock outcropping with a nice view to the east. We chatted briefly with two women who walked by. They pointed out a mountain to the northeast and claimed that it was Mansfield, though we were highly skeptical, and later determined that they were way off. It was some other smaller mountain much further east than Mansfield. As we were eating, or shortly thereafter, we began to notice a few drops falling from the sky. It slowly became more and more grey out, and eventually the rain came--it was reminding me a lot of last year's trip. There wasn't much that could be done about, so we just got wet. I did my best to fend it off with my rain jacket, and it worked to some degree, but eventually it didn't matter much anymore. Kevin, who hadn't done a big hike in quite a long time, was having a tough go of it, and I hung back with him and Joe.

Even before the rain had begun, I'd been amazed at how consistently muddy the trail was. I spent a lot of time trying to decide if I should trudge through the mud and avoid widening the trail, or walk around the mud and damage the vegetation but avoid getting muddy and wet. I tried to walk the fine line between the two .... Anyway, once the rain came there was no stopping the mud. I was behind Kevin quite a bit, and the backs of his legs were black. It wouldn't be fair to say that it was pouring, but it was constantly coming down. Eventually we finished the 7.5 miles to the Cooley Glen Shelter, where we met the others who'd arrived quite a while earlier.

I immediately changed into the clothes I'd kept dry in a garbage bag in my pack, and jumped right into my sleeping bag, around 18:00. I almost never came out again until the next morning. I managed to mooch some mac and cheese off of Sean (though I hadn't planned on it), who had made plenty. Once Kevin brought out the bag of macaroni and cheese that he'd brought, we realized that we'd have no shortage of food. Kevin had brought enough macaroni and cheese for a small army, and Sean was even munching it uncooked to help reduce the total volume. After eating, it was looking like we'd have the shelter to ourselves when out of the rain came two completely drenched long-distance hikers. They were making no effort whatsoever to stay dry, long since having given up, I guess. They were nice, though not too talkative, and at least one of them seemed to have a serious nicotine addiction. I slept next to one of them, and he was encroaching on my space quite a bit during the night. At one point I had so little space that I was touching Kevin on side and the other guy on my other side. It wasn't as good a night's sleep as the previous night, but not terrible.

Our third day was to be a long one, so we were ready to get going early. It was shortly after 07:00, and it was still raining moderately, as it had been all through the night. Just as I was bucking up to head out into it, the real rain came--it started pouring buckets. That ticked me off, and so I just went, accepting that I'd be soaked. I tried for a while to avoid drenching my boots, but soon gave up on that. We were headed uphill, and I thought I'd catch Joe, who was the only one ahead of me--he'd decided to get an early jump on the rest of us. Joe musta been flyin', though, because I never caught sight of him. I was a bit worried that somehow he'd gone off the trail, but once in a while I spotted a fresh-looking muddy footprint, and I knew he was up there. Graham was close behind me, and we trudged through the rain together for quite a ways. We reached a few points which appeared as though they would have afforded beautiful views, had there not been a thick fog hanging over them. We saw nothing but white. We hiked gradually downhill for a long way, finally reaching the road at Lincoln Gap. We waited for a while for the others to catch up, but after a while (the better part of an hour), Graham decided to continue on. I decided to continue waiting for the others, and wait I did.

An hour and a half passed before the others finally came. In the meanwhile I stood around watching people come and go. Kevin was in pretty tough shape, and he and I headed on up the trail together, the others all in front of us. We reached the Battell Shelter in good time, where I'd stayed last fall. Sean and Somu were still there, and the three of us tried to convince Kevin to continue on, as he strongly considered spending the night there at the shelter. I promised to stay with him, and that we could stay in my tent wherever we might run out of steam along the way. He considered it, but eventually decided that he'd stay in the shelter and hike back to Lincoln Gap in the morning to be picked up.

Sean, Somu and I headed up Abraham. It was steep, and the weather was finally clearing--we saw a fair number of people along the way. I made it up in decent time, and Somu was close behind. Sean's plan to slow himself down was working, because I don't think I've ever seen him so tired. We took in the views at the summit, then continued on down the ridgeline. There were plenty more great views along the way, and plenty of places to stop for short breaks, which we certainly did. It was a long, tiring ridge walk, with tough footing in many places. When we finally finished the nearly 13 mile trek to Glen Ellen Lodge, we found the others hanging out and relaxing, along with two middle-aged women and a somewhat older gentleman, who I'd bumped into back at Lincoln Gap. We all chatted for a while on the rocks in front of the lodge, enjoying the much-improved weather and eating heartily. We went to bed early, as had become the norm.

I got up shortly after 06:00, and thoroughly enjoyed the relaxing morning. We didn't have far to go, so we were in no hurry. The others didn't get up until much later, and I spent a while writing a silly entry in the log book, decidedly poking fun of each other person in one way or another. We finally hit the trail around 10:00, and Graham and I were at the head of the pack. I found that there was still quite a bit of blowdown from the hurricane last fall, to my surprise. Some parts looked identical to when I came through with Felipe and Simone. Before long we reached the decrepit-looking Theron Dean Shelter, and spent quite a while searching for an apparent side trail that went through some boulder caves. After just about giving up, we finally found them. It was a short diversion, but pretty cool.

The rest of the way out was pretty uneventful, but extremely steep downhill. We reached the car and waited around for the others to arrive, having successfully completed our second annual pseudo-Clarkson reunion backpacking trip.

Bonds, Twins, Galehead, and Zealand
Friday - Sunday, August 4-6, 2000

Three Ponds
Saturday, July 22, 2000

North Hancock and South Hancock
Monday - Tuesday, July 3-4, 2000

Biking Through Franconia Notch
Saturday, June 24, 2000

The four of us who remained continued on. Jack and Kathy were riding a tandem, which was pretty neat. I was enjoying the ride quite a bit, much like my first time here, except that my brakes were in really tough shape so I had to ride cautiously. So cautiously, in fact, that the other three though I was having a really tough time keeping up, not understanding that it wasn't a lack of energy that was slowing me down. The trip south to Lincoln was mostly downhill, and so I figured on the way back I could show them that energy wasn't the issue. Other than feeling misunderstood, though, the trip was really enjoyable--the weather was fantastic and there weren't too many others on the trail, surprisingly. And the sights of the cliffs through the Notch were, of course, incredible.

We met Jamie and Katia at Chieng Garden for Chinese food for lunch. After stuffing ourselves, we headed right back on the road for the return trip. This seemed like a bad idea, though in the end all the food didn't seem to be much of a burden, to my surprise. I was highly motivated and zipped up the hill pretty quickly, and waited for the others to catch up from time to time. We finished our ride at the parking area for the Cannon Mountain Tramway, which was the next event on the pre-wedding festivities agenda.

East Osceola and Osceola
Saturday - Sunday, June 3-4, 2000

We rose at about 07:30, cooked some oatmeal, and soon were on our way towards Osceola. We passed two college-aged guys on the way who seemed to be in quite a hurry, as well as two older tough-looking gents with a small dog. They asked if there was a way around the steep part of the trail that was just ahead of us, which I knew about from my last trip here. It was the must fun part of the trail, and I explained to them that there was a very short side trail, also steep but not as bad, which went around it. I'm not sure how they could have missed it, but they wanted to make sure to avoid it on the way back. They said getting the dog down was very difficult, and I believe it! In fact, this little section, which was only about 5 meters long (or, rather, 5 meters high!), was just ahead of us, and I was amazed they got their dog down it at all. It's practically a short rock climb, but we made it up without too much trouble. Keith confessed that he was pretty nervous about it, however.

We soon reached the open rock summit of Osceola, and took in the incredible views on this clear day. We stayed there long enough to be rejoined by the guys with the dog that we'd passed. They made it to East Osceola and returned, and we chatted with them quite a bit more. They said that the two other guys we'd passed were hoping to beat some record that their friends had set by hiking about 50 miles in one day. Wow, that sounds like so much fun (read: sarcasm). Another person was at the summit with us with their own dog, and there was nearly a fight, but the little dog got snatched up by his owner, who we learned was a retired military person, and he certainly fit the stereotype.

Eventually we headed on down toward Tripoli Road, and passed dozens of young Cub/Boy Scout types along the way, as well as many of their very out-of-shape troop leaders, dressed completely inappropriately for a hike, and almost always asking us how much further it was to the top. It was pretty amusing. Before long we were back at the road, and had decided to skip doing Tecumseh, which was part of the original plan. We bagged it because the views were minimal, and we had no water. The only way we could've had pure water was to boil it at this point. I decided that in the future I really ought to carry iodine solution. As we hiked along the road toward the parking lot, the mosquitos really doing a number on us, we had an interesting discussion about the ongoing forest fires out west, and how they were a necessary part of the cycles of nature. Keith was very informed on the subject, being a student of forestry himself, if I remember the name of his field properly. At one point an older gentleman pulled over in his car to chat with us, which was a little strange, but otherwise we made quick time back to Keith's car. We noted that it was interesting how the bugs were quite bad along the road and at the parking lot, but not nearly so along most of the trails.

Missoula to Plattsburgh
Wednesday - Sunday, May 17-21, 2000

Holland Lake area
Monday - Tuesday, May 15-16, 2000

Blodgett Canyon
Sunday, May 14, 2000

At some point as we were enjoying our break, a couple of gentlemen hiked by and we learned that at least one of them was from New York! They hung around and chatted with us for quite a while, and snapped our picture. Not long after they'd left, we decided to head back as well. The hike out was just as leisurely as the hike in, and we stopped occasionally along the way to look at various interesting rocks, trees, plants, and small animals that we encountered. Before long, we were back at the car and headed back for Missoula.

Note: Sadly, later on in the summer after our visit, the forest fires that ravaged much of Montana reached Blodgett Canyon, presumably destroying much of the beautiful forest we so enjoyed that day.

University Beacon
Friday, May 12, 2000

Plattsburgh to Missoula
Monday - Sunday, May 1-10, 2000

We'd been planning it for quite a while, and finally it was going to happen. Mom, Dad and I were going on a road trip across the country. Our final destination was Missoula, Montana, to attend Kevin's college graduation. Over the weekend before we left, I headed up to Plattsburgh from Dartmouth, and we three spent the weekend preparing for the journey. Jon Bredin had lent me his cell phone, and we went and got that activated. Mom prepared lots of great food and snacks for in the car, and I started playing with a digital camera, also lent to us by Jon. We were pretty much all ready to go and just waiting for morning to go get the car and head out. It seemed like we spent much of Sunday just lazing around.

DAY ONE
Morning finally came, and we headed up to the airport to pick up our rental car from Avis. It turns out the car they had intended to reserve for us had been rented by an employee. The woman was apologetic, and said she'd give us a deal for the trouble. We chose another car from the lot, and ended up with a pretty spacious sedan--a Buick Century. We took it back home and spent the next hour or so packing it up. Despite its size, we still managed to pack it pretty full. [A full trunk.] Finally, as 11 o'clock approached, we were almost ready to go!

As we pulled out of the driveway and headed toward I-87 South, with Dad behind the wheel, Mom made the first entry in our log: May 1, 2000: 10:49AM EST on clock in Buick Century rented at Avis, departed 29 Prospect Av for Missoula, MT! (6940 mi on odometer). We were on our way.

The beginning of the trip wasn't terribly exciting ... mainly because it would be a while before we were driving on roads that we hadn't already travelled many times before. But the weather was nice, and my anticipation of the places we'd soon be was very high. At about 1:00, we got on I-88 in the Albany area and started heading southwest. As we drove, we ate lunch and spent a long time talking about what we'd do along the way. Where would we stop? How many hours would we drive per day? How long would a take us to get there? What route would we take? We'd set out with only a general idea of the roads we might take to reach our destination. We decided only that we'd swing south a little bit, hoping to reach the Rockies a ways south of Montana and then drive northward up through them. Driving down to Virginia on I-81 and then across Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas to New Mexico was the southernmost possibility, which I was hoping for. However, with recent extreme weather events in the south, and our lack of experience in long-distance driving, we decided we'd have to play it by ear.

Our first decision was to pass by I-81. Shortly before Binghamton, NY we stopped at a gas station in the small town of Afton, where I relieved Dad of the task of driving. We continued west on I-88 to Binghamton, where we chose Route 17 west instead of I-81 south. We'd been carefully studying the big road atlas I'd bought--which we'd find ourselves doing an awful lot throughout this trip--and decided that since we didn't have a very good idea of the kind of daily mileage that we'd be able to achieve, we'd better play it safe and prepare for a shorter, more northerly route. If we decided we had time to proceed further south, we could always cut down that way later. Our (very) tentative plan was to go southwest until we were at about the same latitude as Colorado, then head straight west.

A little ways down Route 17 we passed the town of Owego, NY. It was the first time in a long time that I'd been near the small town where I'd worked as an intern for IBM back in 1993. Shortly after Owego, Mom fell asleep--just minutes before we switched onto Route 220 south and crossed our first state line into Pennsylvania. The clock in the car read 4:00.

Having stared intently at the atlas earlier, I'd noticed that we might have the opportunity to travel on routes which were marked as scenic. I was not at all interested in spending our whole trip on boring highways, and lobbied for the chance to take such routes. Mom and Dad were in agreement, and so when we soon reached the town of North Towanda, PA, we headed west on the "scenic" Route 6. The atlas had not lied--we cruised up and down big, rolling hills, treated to distant views from their crests. When we reached the town of Troy, however, we parted from Route 6 for the apparently not as scenic, but equally rural, Route 14 south. It provided a more direct path towards Route 220, which we eventually planned to rejoin. We zigged and zagged through the small towns of central Pennsylvania, eventually reaching Route 15, which took us a short stretch to Williamsport and Route 220, which was now travelling in a more southwesterly direction.

Just a few minutes after getting back on 220, we found a place to eat. It was about 5:40, and we were hungry. We stopped at the Harvest Moon Restaurant, which was right on the roadside. It was a quaint little place, mostly empty and a friendly atmosphere. We enjoyed our first restaurant meal of the trip, and thoroughly enjoyed the break. We didn't waste much time, though, and were back on the road an hour later.

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We followed 220 for what seemed like ages. Pennsylvania hadn't seemed so big on the map, but getting across it was taking a long time. I really wanted to get past Pennsylvania on our first day. I think it was because that would at least make it feel like we got out of the northeast. Not even getting out of that region on the first day would have felt disappointing. While on 220, though, the scenery was indeed pleasant. At one point, I recall following some kind of row of small mountains which were so perfectly aligned and similar that it seemed to me they had to have been man-made. They were big enough, though, that the amount of human effort required to build them would've been almost unthinkable. These grassy mountains went on for miles, and were regularly broken by identical-looking "passes". I was mindboggled, unable to decide how in the world these things came to be. I never did find out.

Finally, after following 220 (and sometimes overlapping with I-99) for hours, we crossed the state line into Maryland. It was 9:04pm. Though we'd had excellent weather all day, it had recently started to sprinkle. We briefly debated how much driving we wanted to do today. We had a long way to go--should we take turns driving through the night? We briefly considered it, but just as quickly dispensed the idea, appealing though it was for making the trip more of an adventure. We'd been driving for about 10 hours, but now that it was dark, continuing to drive would only mean that we'd miss whatever interesting sights there were to see along the way. We decided we didn't want to miss anything, and stopped at the next city--Cumberaland, MD, just a few miles down the road.

We briefly pulled onto a side road to study our map, then continued up the road a bit where we found the Woodside Motor Lodge. It looked like a quiet, inexpensive little place, albeit a touch weather-worn. We checked in and unloaded our stuff. We hit the sack pretty quickly, planning to get a bright and early start the next morning.

DAY TWO
We got up bright and early, hoping to get on the road by 8. I had packed like a true minimalist, and practically all of my clothes fit inside my green rucksack. I figured I wouldn't be getting them very dirty sitting in the car, and who did I need to impress by dressing up anyway! I was ready to go in no time in the morning. I ate a bowl of cereal, which Mom had thoughtfully packed, and then wandered around the outside of the motel a bit while Mom and Dad finished getting ready. Every room in the motel, which was just one long, straight building, opened into a screened-in hall which stretched the entire length of the structure. It was clearly an old building, and a bit run down, but it was clear that a lot of effort was put into making it more pleasant for the guests. In fact, the proprietor, a chatty woman who checked us in, said she'd recently bought the place and was trying to fix it up. The floor of the screened-in "porch" was turfed and uneven with age. There were lots of pieces of furniture and knickknacks around which made it interesting, though they didn't hold coherently to any particular theme. There was an old iron stove on one side, and an end table contained a big plastic bucket with candy. I paced around a bit, and wandered outside into the sunny morning. It had rained during the night but recently stopped, and I hoped that we'd have good weather ahead. Before long, we were all ready to go, and we hit the road at 7:43am.

We headed west on I-68 from Cumberland, and at 8:27 stopped for gas in the town of Friendsville, near the state line. A look at the odometer indicated that we'd already travelled over 600 miles since leaving Plattsburgh. Just a few minutes later, at 8:37, we crossed the border into West Virginia--somehow it felt like now we were really breaking new territory! And break territory we did. Today we drove and drove and drove and drove. It was a beautifully sunny day, and in addition to watching the scenery--which was getting flatter and flatter--we passed the time by discussing which way to go and what lay ahead. In fact, despite long hours in the car, we had no trouble keeping ourselves upbeat and in good spirits. I'm pretty sure I've driven through the eastern panhandle of West Virginia before, however briefly. Maybe Mom and Dad have been here before, too, but if so it was probably equally brief as my visit. This perhaps explains why it felt like we were really breaking new ground.

Not long after entering West Virginia, we hit I-79 south. That took us all of the way to the capital, Charleston, where we switched to I-64 east. Just past Charleston we stopped at a rest area near Hurricane, WV, for lunch. It was 11:38am, and the sun was shining brightly. We rested in the grass for a few minutes before eating, but were back on the road in just over half an hour. I took over the driving from Dad, who'd been at the wheel all morning. Just 30 minutes later, we crossed the state line into Kentucky: the time was 12:40pm. At that moment we were within a few miles of Ohio, but that's as close as we'd get. I don't think any of us had been to Kentucky before. We cruised across the state on 64 all the way. At 2:20pm we skirted historic Lexington, and passed the state capital of Frankfort just 25 minutes later. It was 77 degrees Fahrenheit when we hit Louisville at 3:26pm. Five minutes after that we crossed the Ohio River into Indiana.

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By this time, we'd decided against the more southern route that would take us through Texas toward New Mexico on I-40. A recent spate of tornados down there helped us make our decision about that. So instead we were cruising across southern Indiana. Being my first trip this far west (yes, really), I was quite interested, and perhaps even a touch depressed, to see the incredible flatness for the territory. I knew it was like this, yet having never experienced it, it was very intriguing to me. Not far into Indiana, we stopped for gas. We thought we were in or near the town of Palmyra, though later studying of the map shows that Palmyra is actually a ways north of us. Huh. At just after 4 o'clock, we pulled over to change drivers, because Mom was interested in taking the helm for a while. She cruised along for a while, but not too long before her passengers got a bit stressed out--worried about her driving--and so she decided to switch back to being a passenger herself. But why complain--it's easier to enjoy the scenery when you're not the driver!

We were getting close to our first really exciting border crossing--no, not Illinois. We were nearing the western edge of the Eastern Time Zone! Why such a big deal? Well, because some of us--Dad and I--had never left this time zone, ever! I know I was excited, despite the silliness of it. I'd been all over the place, south to Florida, north to Quebec City, and many points in between--but never had I left good old EST or EDT. Finally at 4:40pm Eastern Time (3:40pm Central Time!), we broke the barrier. No longer could Dad or myself claim how we'd been restricted to just one time zone.

Just about an hour later, at 4:39pm (Central Time), we entered Illinois. Now, at some point along the way across the ever-flattening terrain--either in Indiana or Illinois--we started to notice these little pump-thingies spread out across the land--like we'd seen on TV for pumping oil from the ground, except these were like miniatures. We theorized that they were perhaps for pumping oil, but no longer in use, since hardly any of them seemed to be moving. But since we'd been driving through such wide open farmland, we suspected that maybe they pumped water out of the ground for irrigation. We really didn't know for sure, though .... One minute after entering Illinois, we stopped for a bathroom break at the Skeeter Mountain rest stop. It was still beautiful out, and we wandered up to the shade for a rest for a few minutes before hitting the road again.

As 6pm approached, we were really keeping our eyes open for places to eat, as we were getting pretty hungry. It seemed a bit hopeless, though, since we seemed to be practically in the middle of nowhere, and each exit only seemed to have a few buildings, let alone a restaurant. However, we lucked out because sure enough, in Nashville, IL, near a car dealer with a big cowboy, we found the Little Nashville Restaurant. We had a nice, relaxing dinner, and were back on the road again in about an hour.

As eight o'clock approached, so did St. Louis. Dad studied the map for a while and we debated how to get through St. Louis to avoid traffic. In the end we decided that the lateness of the hour would probably mean that there wouldn't be any traffic problems to speak of, and we were right. At 7:57pm, we crossed the Mississippi River and entered the state of Missouri and the city of St. Louis. We switched from I-64 to I-70, the Mark MacGwire Memorial Highway, and passed the Gateway to the West. It was pretty exciting. There was minimal traffic, but we kept moving and soon enough were out of the city. We crossed the Missouri River at 8:21, and at 9:00 we stopped at Exit 193, Warrenton. We found a nearby Motel 6 and settled in for the night. I watched a little hockey before turning in.

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DAY THREE
We were up fairly early again, and left our hotel room for the road at 7:44am. We realized that, having allocated several more days in which to reach Missoula, we had plenty of time, and there was no need to rush. With that in mind, we parted from I-70--which continues straight west all the way to Denver and beyond--and decided to do a little sightseeing. At 8:23am, we turned south onto Route 54, headed towards the Lake of the Ozarks. At 8:51 we crossed the Missouri River again on our way past Jefferson City, the state capital. Not much later we stopped for gas in the small town of Eldon, before continuing to a scenic overlook over Bagnell Dam. It was a little park on the property of a hydroelectric company, presumably the one that owns the dam which is responsible for the Lake. It's one of the largest man-made lakes in the world. We spent a while reading about the lake and enjoying the gardens and the views. We were the only ones in the little park, with the exception of one employee who came by as we were heading out.

From there we drove down and across the dam on Business Route 54, and looked for a little side route (Route 42) that wound between a couple portions of the lake, but somehow we missed it in the crowded little tourist town of Lake Ozark. We rejoined regular old Route 54 a moment later, passed through the even busier tourist town of Osage Beach, and took it for a few more miles before turning northwest onto Route 7 in Camdenton. This winding back road turned out to be the most pleasant section of road we'd driven on since we started the trip. It was a relaxing ride over rolling little hills through a very green, lightly wooded, lightly populated region. There was hardly a car on the road and the weather was sunny yet again. It was an excellent break from the interstate driving that had composed most of our trip so far. Along this stretch of road, we passed a small town with a funny name: Tightwad, MO.

We were getting hungry, and decided that in the next slightly sizable town that we reached, we'd look for a place to eat. At 11:45, we found a Subway in the town of Clinton, MO, and grabbed some subs. A nearby sign indicated that it was a comfortable 76 degrees outside. We took our subs on the road, and a few minutes later stopped at the Golden Valley Roadside Park (just a little rest area, really) to eat. We were there alone, not far from a suddenly pretty busy section of Route 7. There were big fields of grass all around the park, and a few trees nearby to provide shade, and a place for me to release some energy. We got back on the road at 12:29.

30 minutes later, we hopped very briefly onto I-71 north (towards Kansas City), then 3 minutes later hopped onto Route 2 west. We planned to avoid the big cities, and were really enjoying the back-roads driving. We were in no rush to make our way back up to I-70. At 1:19pm, we entered the state of Kansas! Route 2 switched to Route 68, and we continued due west. Boy, is it flat. All of the roads are really straight, as you can guess just by looking at any map. They form lots and lots of rectangles. Instead of being incredibly boring, though, it was somewhat pleasant, we found, to drive through such a vast, open space. The only towns we passed through were small ones, and it gave me the feeling of really being away from it all. A prolonged visit might lose its charm, but for now everything was just fine. We cruised across the state, waving to all of those who passed us, because they waved first. We spent hours studying the farms, spying interesting and unusual buildings along the way, though they were few and far between.

One of the first things we did was stop at a general store in Pomono, where I took over for Dad as driver. From there we took 68 to 268, where we cut past Pomona Lake to Route 31, from which we switched to Route 56 just down the road at Osage City. We were now on another of what our atlas deemed to be a scenic highway. It was pretty, though the scenery and terrain was very, um, consistent. At Herington at 3:42, we turned south, remaining on 56 but overlapping with 77. We'd decided to stay on the scenic route and avoid returning to I-70, which at this point would've been a quick jaunt to the north. We were going to stay in the outback! 56 soon departed from 77 and turned back west, as did we. At 4:39pm, we stopped for gas in the town of McPherson, KS.

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For a while we raced along side of a very, very long freight train as we made our way across the state. At 6:08, we stopped for dinner in Great Bend, where we found a Perkins Family Restaurant. It was a nice establishment, with a comfortable atmosphere. It reminded me of place like Lums or the old Bonanza, back in Plattsburgh. We continued on at a little after 7, splitting away from Route 56 and onto 96, which we'd been overlapping with for a while. We stopped briefly to buy some milk before continuing for about an hour into the sunset towards Ness City, about two-thirds of the way across Kansas.

It was about 8:30pm, and we decided to stop for the night. We drove back and for the down the main street a couple of times, looking for an inexpensive-looking hotel in the moderate-sized, but seemily very quiet crossroads town. We passed up the Derrick Inn Motel our first time through because it looked a bit too fancy and possibly more expensive than we cared for. Eventually, we stopped at a little liquor store to ask hotel recommendations. We ended up going back to the Derrick Inn, which, although a nice place, turned out to be pretty inexpensive. I found the name "Inn Motel" to be a bit odd, but once we went inside I had an idea about why it was so named. The interior of the hotel was huge, and seemed somewhat strange. There was an indoor pool that looked mysteriously like an outdoor pool, and surrounding it on all sides were two floors of rooms, all opening towards the pool. Take the roof off of the top, and you have a motel. Put the roof back on, and perhaps you want to rename it an inn.

We got a room on the second floor, near the entrance, and settled in pretty quickly. There were kids splashing around in the pool until very late at night, and the sounds echoed superbly throughout the entire inn/motel. Despite the noise, however, none of us had too much trouble getting to sleep.

DAY FOUR
The next morning was pretty leisurely for us. We slept in a bit later than we had been, and then Dad walked next door to a local garage and chatted with the proprietor. He inquired about getting an oil change, and the guy said he could do it right then and there, so Dad brought the car over. Meanwhile, I strolled around, the building, and noticed that although we were on the main street through the town, there really wasn't much else to it. There didn't seem to be a single other road behind the motel. Finally, we got on the road at 9:38--westward ho!

As we were driving along (for miles in a perfectly straight line), we occasionally encountered suicidal pheasants which would dart out of the grass along the side of the road right in front of the car. Most of them made it alive, but one of them wasn't so lucky, and nearly scared the wits out of me with its sudden appearance. Sorry litte guy, I didn't mean it. Another milestone passed at 11:10am (Central Time), when we crossed into the Mountain Time Zone. Not much farther to Colorado! But before we left Kansas, we passed such sights as Native American impersonators, a lonely baseball field, an enormous cattle yard and more fruited plains. We stopped in Tribune, just about the last town before the state line, at 10:20am and bought a few groceries at a store called Gooch's before eating an early lunch at a little restaurant down the street. We were served burgers and fries by a quiet, emotionless man who almost seemed angry. It was only 10:30 local time, which partly explains why we were the only ones in the tiny burger joint. I tried to snap a picture of the place, whose name I've forgotten, as we drove past it on the way out of town, but all I really got was a picture of the driver and a pickup in front of the restaurant.

Not long after that, at 11:20 (Mountain Time), we reached the border of Colorado, but not after driving towards what appeared to be the end of the earth. It wasn't, though. Colorado really was there, and appeared to be the place where the amber waves of grain are--it looked a lot like Kansas. This is probably about the time that I started squinting, looking into the distance for those majestic Rocky Mountains, if I hadn't already started looking. I was told by various people that I'd just be blown away by them, so I kept thinking that they'd rise out of the ground so suddenly and so high that I would just be blown away. Because of that, I think I was looking too high in the sky for them. Every time I saw a distant, wispy cloud, I squinted harder, thinking that maybe that was the snow-capped summit of a mountain in the distance. I spent a lot of time squinting, but no mountains showed up for a long time.

We continued along Route 96, which finally began to have actual turns, and even some trees. We stopped at a gas station in a tiny town called Eads at about noon to ask if they had tourism guides for the state, but they didn't. We wanted to start planning where we'd go in Colorado, and what we'd do. At a rest area just down the road, we pulled over and did our best to plan a route through the state using our atlas. From there we continued on, passing through a little town called Sugar City before crossing the final stretch of flatness. It was around Sugar City--maybe a bit before, maybe a bit after--that we finally saw some distant whiteness in the sky that wasn't a cloud. The mountains!

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They sure did dart up out of the plains very abruptly, though I think my expectations were so high that I was a little bit disappointed. Nonetheless, they were very beautiful. We stopped at a Loaf N' Jug store in Pueblo for gas, then found a nearby Barnes and Noble where we bought a Colorado atlas and some postcards. I found a bunch of scenic drives that were mentioned in the new atlas, and we decided to head for the Gold Belt Tour, which was just west of us. The atlas indicated that the scenic driver started in the little town of Florence, and would be marked by road signs. On the way towards Florence at about 3:30pm, we entered the foothills on the edge of the Rockies. As we were making our way through the little town looking for scenic drive signs, I noticed that I had just entered a 20mph speed zone and was still going about 30mph. Just as I was slowing down, flashing lights from behind indicated that I should've been paying a bit closer attention. A friendly officer questioned us briefly, then we waited a while as he went back to his car, and eventually he let me go with only a word of caution. We asked him about the Gold Belt Tour, he surprisingly didn't really know where it was, though he'd heard of it. He suggested we continue down the road to look for it, which we did.

We continued on and did finally find a sign for the Gold Belt Tour. Soon afterward, we spotted a parking area next to a river where we decided to pull over and take a break. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the air temperature was comfortable. We strolled along the river for a little while--it was the Arkansas River--and relaxed a bit after our little run-in with the law. Soon we headed back on the road again, making our way toward Canon City (there should be a tilde on the middle 'n' in Canon, and it's pronounced like "canyon"), now following signs for the Gold Belt Tour. It continued north on the outskirts of Canon City.

We continued for a while along this very scenic road, which wound it's way through the increasingly dry hills, which were only sparsely populated with trees. We stopped here and there to take in the views, and it appeared we were entering canyon lands. We drove past cattle which were roaming freely in and across the roads. There were numerous signs along the way describing dinosaur fossils which had been found in the area. [Mom points down at Fourmile Creek, which the road seemed to be following.] The road wound on and on, and eventually turned to dirt. We wondered just how long the tour was going to take us, since by this time we weren't able to drive very fast. Nonetheless, we were in no rush, the scenery was pretty, and we were enjoying the ride.

At a little before 5:00pm, we passed a big field on our left where there were tents set up in the distance and steep inclines or cliffs in the background. I wondered if there were rock climbers there. It was some kind of campground, and though I was curious about it, we drove past the entrance to a fork in the road soon after it. The dirt road was very narrow at this point, barely wide enough for two cars to pass, and only in some places. We hoped to see a Gold Belt Tour sign telling us which way to go at this junction, but found none. We opted to turn left, and began heading up, up and up. We were ascending a big hill, destination unknown, on a tiny one-lane dirt road. I'd read the rental car agreement, and it had said we weren't allowed to drive on dirt roads. We thought that was a bit silly, so we just drove carefully. The views were getting better and better, but we didn't have any idea how long this road went on, or if we were still even on the Gold Belt Tour. So eventually we got out for a break and a photo, and managed to get the car turned around.

We made our way back down the hill to the junction, and decided to try the other direction. We rambled along between the trees for a minute, and squeezed past a pickup truck. Moments later, we went around a turn to the left, and suddenly we were out of the trees and driving along the edge of a cliff! Wow, it was scary. I was behind the wheel and I was really nervous. However, I had not really thought about turning back, only about driving veeeery carefully, and hoping that I would not have to pass anyone on this stretch. Dad was not quite as "relaxed" as I was, and within a moment, we'd decided to turn back as soon as possible, if it were possible. We squeezed along the one-lane road with cliffs rising up to our left (undoubtedly rising up towards the hilly road we'd just been on) and cliffs dropping down to our right. It was like the kind of road you'd see in a cartoon. My knuckles were white as I gripped the wheel and my hands were sweating. We continued on slowly for a couple of minutes, and you could see the cliffs below the road ahead as we zigged and zagged along the indentations in the embankment. I noticed that in some places, rock walls had been built up, apparently to widen the road and hold up the dirt. This I found to be very troubling. Finally, perhaps a quarter- or half-mile down the road, we encountered a wide curve where we could turn around. Dad got out to direct me in a many-point turn, just to be safe. We had more than enough space, but wanted to take no chances. I even convinced him to snap a quick picture, though unfortunately it doesn't do justice to the situation. Going back was ever-so-slightly easier on our nerves, since we were able to hug the interior of the cliff more easily. A few minutes later we were back among the trees and bushes, and breathing a huge sigh of relief.

As we made our way back along Fourmile Creek the way we'd come in, we talked a lot about the little unexpected adventure we'd just experienced. Mostly, we thought about how much worse it could have been, had another vehicle come along while we were on that nightmarish road. Had we been there just a minute earlier, we would have encountered that pickup truck. We wondered how on earth anyone in their right minds could ever drive on such a road. Later inspection of our maps would show that this road was appropriately named Shelf Road. The road we'd followed up the hill before turning around was named Bank Road. The two eventually rejoined, presumably beyond the "shelf".

We found our way back to one of the parking areas we'd passed on the way in, and sat down on some rocks to make some sandwiches and have dinner. Dad made the following entry in the diary: "Stopped to eat and change underwear." We seemed to be in snake country, and though we thought it was too early in the season to worry about it, we really weren't knowledgable enough about the subject so we were careful. After our little picnic, I put on my hiking boots and went down a nearby path that overlooked some smaller canyons. It was very pretty, and I was again very careful about snakes, though never saw any signs of one.

Trip Diary, Page 6

At about 6:00pm we got back on the road and made our way just west of Canon City on Route 50, where we turned left onto a side road that went up to Royal Gorge, and a suspension bridge that spans it--the world's highest such bridge. The road up was steep and windy, and Dad wasn't too terribly fond of it, but it was scenic and I thought it was fun. The suspension bridge was more of an attraction than a useful method for getting somewhere, and it cost a fortune to cross it, both on foot and by car. So, we parked and walked around a bit. Dad was not interested in getting anywhere near the edge of the gorge, but Mom and I walked over to a little area with some paths near the edge, with a fence for safety. It was awesome to look down into the deep, narrow gorge. We could see a car crossing the one-lane bridge, but more interestingly, we could hear it rattling along as if its tires were clacking from one loose board to the next! It's a very good thing we didn't drive across it. It was nearly impossible to take a picture of the gorge, the bridge, and a person at the same time, but somehow Mom did it!

At 7:10pm we got back on the road once again, returning to Route 50 and heading east toward Salida. The rolling highway, with its lack of guard rails and long drops down to the Arkansas River, made for a bit of an uncomfortable drive in spots, though we were still getting nice views of the snowy mountaintops. I was still at the wheel, and though roads like this are not that uncommon back east, the psychological difference made by guard rails became quite apparent to me. As we approached Salida, it was getting dark and but we were seriously considering camping out for the night. I'd spotted some campsite options, but because of the late hour we decided to play it safe and find a motel. We hadn't counted on being so queasy about driving through the mountains, and roads to a campsite might contain surprises that we didn't need at this point. We found an EconoLodge and got a room.

I watched some hockey, then between periods, at maybe 9:30 or so, Mom and I put on bathing gear and went out to a little shack that housed a hot tub. We relaxed in the hot water for a while, then returned to the room and I watched more hockey as the game went into overtime. Mom and Dad went to sleep, and I kept watching ... and watching ... and watching. The game went into quintuple overtime, and I was up pretty darn late! Finally, though the Flyers beat the Penguins in the 3rd longest game in NHL history, and I went to sleep.

Trip Diary, Page 7

DAY FIVE
The next morning I got up and wandered around briefly, taking in the views around the motel, before we hit the road at 9:25am. We headed west on Route 50 again, and the drive was very enjoyable. The features of the land were all very new to us, and we were constantly staring out the windows at the various attractions. Mountains were everywhere, sometimes close but often in the distance. Among the things which caught our eye were the snow-capped mountains [2] [3], of course, some closer snowy slopes, a very uniform forest of skinny evergreens, the views across a windy road, the "Chia-hills" [2] [3] [4] [5], a distant snowy mountain range, a big W, often colorful rocky outcroppings [2] [3], the Morrow Point Reservoir in Curecanti National Recreation Area and it's fantastic rock formations [2] [3] [4], followed by still more fuzzy-looking hills. After a pretty long non-stop round of driving, we were ready to eat. At about noon we reached the town of Montrose. There we found a little park and a perfect place to picnic in the shade on this sunny day. It would be our last peaceful moment for a while.

After eating, we headed south from Montrose on Route 550, or "heart in the throat highway", as Dad noted in the diary. For roughly the next two hours, we drove along the edges of some very steep, very long drop-offs. It was beautiful, but it sure was hard to enjoy it. It didn't start out so bad, though only because when we started out we weren't in the mountains. I'd studied this route on our maps intensely, trying to convince myself that the route would be a comfortable one for all of us to take. There were a couple of switchbacks, but otherwise it didn't look too bad. Unfortunately, the lack of curves didn't mean it would be lacking excitement. As we neared the town of Ouray, we realized that we'd reached the mountains again. There were supposedly some hot springs, but when we stopped to look for them, it appeared that a pool was built around them. We'd expected them to be in their natural state, so that wasn't too exciting, and we continued. We saw that there was a switchback ahead of us, so we hunkered down and headed up.

Making it up the original switchback really wasn't too bad, and there were some incredible views [2] [3] to be had. However, once we were up it, we began following along the ravines of various rivers which were squeezed in between the mountains. The road essentially traversed the steep walls of these ravines for almost its entire length. We were pretty nervous ourselves, and absolutely amazed at the number of huge RVs and logging trucks that were barreling along this narrow, exposed route. After a short while we pulled over in a nice big parking area and tried to relax [2] a bit.

Cardigan
Saturday, April 15, 2000

Kinsman Pond
Saturday, March 4, 2000

Alder Brook Cabin
Friday - Sunday, January 7-9, 2000

The next morning we got up around ten and slowly got ourselves going. We had some oatmeal and decided to ski. We headed out around 1, following Alder Brook Road towards Chase Mountain, which I'd seen on the map. When the old logging road we were following finally petered out, we continued towards what we thought was the peak. It finally got too difficult to ski, so we left them behind and hiked through the thick snow. We went quite a ways and were getting very near to the peak when we finally decided to turn back. The woods were getting extremely dense and there was a lot of down trees under the snow to trip us up. Also, the dogs were having a pretty tough time, and ice was building up on their paws. Not long after turning back we stopped for a bite to eat--cheese, pepperoni, and crackers, one of my favorite hiking meals. Before long we were back to our skis, and going down the windy, brushy logging road was pretty risky for a while. Once back on the main Alder Brook Road, we cruised, as it was mostly downhill. We were back to the cabin pretty quickly, arriving just as it was getting dark.

We got our fire going again, and I made some beans and rice for dinner. We ate heartily, and then played some cards for a little while before getting ready for bed. The sleeping arrangements were pretty interesting. There were two sets of triple bunks, all close to the woodstove. I'd slept in the top the night before, but it was pretty warm up there so I decided to sleep in the bottom this time. Ron slept in the top of the other triple, as he had the night before. It was so close to the ceiling that he couldn't roll over without rubbing his shoulder! I slept on the bottom this time, and the temperature difference between the top and bottom was radical. It was pretty chilly down there, but I had my warm sleeping bag. I got up twice during the night to stoke up the fire, especially because it seemed cold to me. Ron, however, had a different opinion. Basically, I stoked up the fire a little too much and cooked him out of the top bunk. I wouldn't be surprised if it was well over 100 degrees up there. It was certainly 80 or more when I was on top the night before. So Ron moved and slept on the floor by the back door of the cabin. Sorry Ron!

We slept in till about 9, got up and ate some oatmeal and slowly began to get our things together. [Lucy and Nakita posing outside the cabin] We chopped some wood and restocked the cabin, washed all the dishes, and chipped ice off of the back steps. We finally headed out at about noon. The snow was very sticky today, and we had a rough time skiing out--it was a lot of work. We stopped along the way to check out one lookout that was marked on the map (Sam's Lookout), and it was nice but nothing spectacular. There was another point of interest marked on the map called The Hand, and though I went down a steep embankment to a river looking for it, I never did find it. Perhaps it was buried under the snow. We finally made it back to the car around 1:30. We packed everything in and prepared to hit the road. Despite some of the difficulties, we all agreed that it had been an awful lot of fun, and that we would have to return to the Grant again sometime.

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