Colorado wasn’t on our original itinerary. We just couldn’t fit it in before winter hit, but with the changes we made – skipping Oregon and Washington – we took advantage of the extra time we have, and our proximity to the Rocky Mountain state.
With Fati tucked up at the campground in Wheatland, WY, we headed south into Colorado, having booked a hotel room in Loveland for one night. If we could get a timed entry reservation, we’d visit Rocky Mountain National Park on our second day.
But it was a big “If.” From experience, we knew timed entries go quickly, so we were ready to sniper the 5 p.m. online reservation release and hope for the best.
We had perfect weather for our first adventure, which saw us leaving I-25 at Wellington, Colorado, aiming for Cache la Poudre Canyon (oddly pronounced “cache la pooh-der,” and named for French-Canadian trappers who hid their gunpowder there during a blizzard in the early 1800s).
The landscape started gently, but quickly morphed into high, craggy spires lifted vertically by whatever natural forces were at work back when dinosaurs roamed the land, and a mighty Poudre River now wends its way along the bottom of the canyon it carved out.
We all have our “things” that unnerve us slightly, and Simon paused for just a moment when we stopped along the river and saw this sign. We were astonished by how many houses were built in the canyon, and often wondered how they would survive a flash flood.
Similar to the Galatin River on our way to Yellowstone, Poudre River is heavily used for fishing and white water rafting. We love seeing rivers as-is, but it’s even more thrilling each time a raft filled with happy (but dogless) adventurers comes bounding down the gentle (and not so gentle) rapids.
We know you’re probably growing tired of scenery photos, but this beautiful country astounds us at nearly every turn, so here’s a video of the canyon’s prettiest turn.
Lunch that day was at the Mishawaka, partly because it’s a long-time institution in these parts, and also because it’s the only restaurant (and a hot-spot music venue) for about a hundred miles. It’s busy…like, REALLY busy…but after driving as far as we could, we backtracked, scored a table on the patio overhanging the river, and life was good.
We made our way out of the canyon after lunch, marveling at how different the view is, depending on which way you’re going.
The day was still young enough for us to detour to Horsetooth Reservoir before heading to our hotel for long, hot showers and a good night’s sleep. The reservoir was created to divert water from the Poudre River to ensure a steady, accessible supply, and now it’s used for all sorts of recreational activities.
At exactly 5 p.m., Susan was on nps.gov, for the release of coveted timed-entry reservations for Rocky Mountain National Park. Forty seconds later we had confirmation for entry between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m. and were good to go!
Simon’s word for the day even, before we reached the park, was “Stupendous,” but it barely scratches the surface of what this place is all about. We couldn’t do any of its fabulous hikes (Ruthie just isn’t able, and dogs aren’t allowed on the trails anyway), but Oh! What glorious vistas!
The ranger we spoke to at the Beaver Meadows Visitor Center just outside the park’s entry told us we must do the Trail Ridge Road (“No, we don’t have any big drop-offs here, we have ‘rolling drop offs,’ which means they’re just long slopes next to the road,”), then visit the hidden gem of Sheep Lake Valley.
We agreed we’d go as far as Beaver Pond, part-way up the mountain, then see if it was still comfortable. During our ascent, the term “rolling drop-off” revealed its true meaning: You won’t die immediately upon impact after falling off the cliff, you’ll just bounce your way down to the valley and die a long, slow, horrible death.
Still, Beaver Pond was located before the big switchbacks, so it would all be fine. Right?
We blew past Bever Pond without realizing it, and were well into the switchbacks when Susan said, “Get me the hell down from here.” Loving husband that he is, Simon pulled into the next big turnout, just on the uphill side of the hideously named Many Parks Curve Overlook (elevation 12,183 feet). He pulled right up to the edge of the parking area, got out, and said, “I’ll just get a couple of photos and be right back.”
As always, Simon had to go right out to the edge of the cliff while Ruthie and I stayed in the car watching him lean way, way over the guardrail. The following conversation took place:
Ruthie: Where’s he going?
Susan: Twelve thousand feet straight down, if he’s not careful.
Ruthie: Who will feed me?
Susan: Me. I always feed you. You know that.
Ruthie: Who will pick up after me when I’m a Good Girl in the garden?
Susan: Now we have a problem.
He was back ten long minutes later, and we were on the descent to Sheep Lake Valley (elevation 8,524), named for the Bighorn Sheep that are prevalent there, so much so that, during summer months, rangers have to be stationed along the road to act as crossing guards.
We hadn’t seen Bighorn Sheep since Custer National Park in South Dakota, so we were hopeful of finding another herd or two.
It was not to be. But something even better was waiting for us when we reached the valley. A bull moose was browsing in a pond just off the road, giving us the thrill of a wildlife sighting we had not yet had.
We shared our binoculars with another couple, who hadn’t seen a moose during their travels, either. There are few things better than having someone say you made their day by doing something so simple.
What a wonderful finale to a day of WPM (Simon’s new term, meaning “Wows per minute”). But we had two more Wows to enjoy when we stopped at Estes Park for dinner. First was the horror-movie Wow of passing the Stanley Hotel, architectural star of the movie, The Shining.
The second was the Wild Game Sampler at Molly B’s restaurant, an enormous platter of smoked buffalo, jalapeno elk, apricot boar, and smoked caribou sausages, with cheese, crackers, and mixed-berry jam, meant to be a sharing appetizer, but the right size for a full entrée, if you’re Simon.
Susan had a vegetable sandwich.
Ruthie had to settle for water, and refused to look at us.
So much fresh air cleared most of the caffeine out of Simon’s bloodstream, so we stopped at the most adorable coffee shop we’ve ever seen. It was a drive through, or a walk-up, or whatever you wanted it to be, and we both ordered a Cherry Garcia coffee and chatted for quite some time with the shop’s owner, who offered to take our photo when we told her we’re travel writers. Isn’t life grand when you slow down and appreciate the quirky?
It was a three-hour drive back to Fati, and several times during the return trip we mentioned how happy we were to have checked Moose off our Bingo card, in a place so stupendous we struggle to find the words.
Veness Travel Media 