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Category Archives: Memoirs

The Third Grade

Posted on January 21, 2015 by Bill Leave a comment

Old Fruita Elementary

I had a turbulent third grade. There were things I couldn’t do. I am so left-handed that I produced terrible cursive handwriting. It was so bad as to be almost unreadable. My ADD didn’t help, I tended to be disruptive, especially when I didn’t like the subject material or the teacher. I did not like Mrs. Bastian. To me she was just old, ugly, and mean. To her, I was rebellious, noisy, inattentive, and defiant. In retrospect, she was burned out and could not afford to leave.

My defiance showed up on the health chart. Every day, Mrs. Bastian graded the class on several things, including cleanliness, combed hair, clean fingernails, and other things. My thing was clean fingernails. While walking to school I would rub my fingernails in the dirt, getting them as filthy as I could. My health chart had all good marks except for the row of black marks for my fingernails. Big black marks. Bob Silva also had black marks, but not because his nails were not clean but because he was so dark the teacher thought his nails were dirty. She was so mean.

The other problem was with my dog. Spanky was a black Cocker Spaniel, as exuberant and careless as I was. Some mornings he would get loose and follow me to school. I think he wanted to go to school. If I saw him before I got to school, I would take him home and be late for school. Mrs. Bastian did not like that and would not accept my excuses. Other mornings he would make it into the classroom. The other kids loved it. The teacher was livid, and sent both of us home. I had to have a parent bring me back to school. Sometimes I just stayed home.

My father was the town telephone man, and my mother was the high school secretary. I know I was an embarrassment to them, but they also knew how much I hated that woman. The parent-teacher conferences must have been quite interesting.

I don’t think I learned a lot in third grade, but it didn’t matter a lot. I was a good reader, and drove my parents crazy with my questions about everything. I learned third grade on my own. I don’t understand why they did not move me across the hall to the other third grade class, but that woman and I got to dislike one another for the entire school year.

Fourth grade was a complete contrast. The teacher was fun, actually liked children, and encouraged learning. The only difficulty was multiplication tables. My ADD has never let me be a good memorizer. My mother drilled them into my head, bless her.

So, third grade didn’t create any lasting trauma, just some lasting memories. I can still see that row of black marks I was so proud of. My dog somehow missed out on fourth grade as well. I still can’t write cursive. I finally gave up trying and went back to printing everything but my scrawl of a signature.

Posted in ADD/ADHD, Memoirs, My Story, Stories

Winter Blues

Posted on January 17, 2015 by Bill One comment

Winter Blues

Here it is January. It was cloudy and snowy for days. The sun is shining today, but bleakly. Christmas and the rest of the holidays are over. They served as a temporary lift from the dark, depressing days of winter that every year remind us of the inevitable destiny we all share.

But, no, it isn’t all bad, just mostly. I don’t know why, but my regular seasonal depression is worse this year. I started feeling flat and unhappy sometime around Halloween, a holiday that was started to point out the return of darkness, the time when the spirits of the underworld again manifest here in our vale of tears. Recent news events have not helped.

For weeks I could not write, and painful memories and feelings arose. I read worthless trash, and was even drawn to watching mainstream television programs (I mostly resisted). I was crabby, restless, and had trouble sleeping. In times past when the melancholy struck, I would turn to drink, but I know it is only a temporary bit of oblivion that makes the everyday reality even more painful.

I got my meds changed, and the depression has lifted enough to allow me to write and get out of the house for a movie (Into the Woods). I feel a bit better, and the return of the sun is helping.

Abraham Lincoln said that the secret of happiness is happiness. That is true but he remained a melancholy. Maybe we have these times to remind us of the good times we so often take for granted. Maybe depressions force us to go inward, to leave daily life out there and look into those corners of our being we try to ignore.

Carl Jung wrote about the need to integrate the shadow, that part of the psyche that lurks behind the face we try to present to the world. If that part of the personality is ignored, it will surface as beliefs and acts that seem to be the opposite of who we want to be. The tragedies of twentieth century point out how the shadow operates in society as well as in the individual.

Depression brings the shadow out, especially at 3:00 AM. When it happens to me, I get to look at the events in my life I regret. I have to acknowledge that I have hurt people, been a bully, lied, shirked responsibility, had rage episodes, cheated, stolen, and overslept. If one tries to bury the dark side, it will surface in a more virulent form.

Learning to accept my shadow allows me to see when it wants to come out, and I am better able to deal with it. Carol, my wife, calls it the other Bill. Now my shadow mostly surfaces as irritability. I usually am able to recognize it and deal with it before I make a big ass out of myself. Depression makes me more irritable.

Today I am sitting in the doctors office while Carol has a procedure. With a few days of the medication change and some sunshine, the depression has eased somewhat, even with less sleep than normal. I think things are improving, even with the bad coffee here.

Posted in Current Activities, Depression, Memoirs, My Story, Stories, Winter, Writing

Nuking Western Colorado

Posted on December 19, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

In the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, Project Plowshare, a U.S. government program was created to develop peaceful uses for nuclear detonations. The program led to three trials in rural Western Colorado designed to release natural gas from tight geologic formations that contained large amounts of natural gas. The gas was there, but was difficult to recover because it would not readily flow to wells. Nuclear fracking, in other words.

The idea was to fracture large amounts of rock releasing the gas for use. Fracking was in use in that era, but the area fractured around a well hole was fairly small, limiting the amount of gas freed. This would remain the case until horizontal well drilling was developed, resulting in a boom in natural gas production.

The use of atomic explosions somewhat larger than the one that destroyed Hiroshima would fracture a large amount of rock, liberating huge amounts of gas. There were three experiments. All three were somewhat successful, yielding gas in recoverable amounts. Big surprise, the gas was radioactive and remains so. A study indicated that the level of radioactivity released in a California home, when blended with gas from other sources, would be well below the dose we receive from background radiation. People would have none of it. No one wanted radioactive natural gas coming into their home at any level.

Western Colorado, source of much of the uranium used in nuclear bombs, had three detonations in a doomed experiment. The most casual of examinations of the proposal to liberate gas from tight strata would raise the radioactivity question. It took millions of dollars to prove the obvious: radioactive natural gas.

Some shots were done at the Nevada test site to explore using bombs to excavate. Huge amounts of radionuclides were released, affecting generations of downwinders, especially in St. George, Utah. Our nuclear tragedy started in New Mexico with the first Trinity detonation that led to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It continues today, with all the radioactive spots around the planet and the people sickened and killed by fallout.

Most historians assert that President Truman’s decision to bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki ultimately saved lives. What they did do was trigger the nuclear arms race with its terrible consequences. Chernobyl and Three Mile Island have shown that nuclear power is risky as well.

My first literary effort was a story I wrote while a student at Mesa College in Grand Junction, Colorado in 1966. Project Rulison was in the works, and my story depicted an even greater failure. The blast sent radioactive oil into a previously unknown aquifer that opened into the irrigation canals that provide water to Grand Valley farms. Radioactive oil in Palisade, Grand Junction, Fruita, and the rest of the valley, rendering it uninhabitable. Pure fiction, but a fun story.

Come up to today, and fracking is still controversial. I think the legacy of Project Rulison is stalking the oil and gas industry to this day. Somehow the industry did not get it that bad practices will catch up with them, despite the API’s slick commercials.

Posted in Colorado History, Energy Policy, Environment, Geology, Memoirs, My Story, Oil and Gas Policy, Stories

Election Day 2014

Posted on November 9, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

Election Day

On November 1, 3, and 4, I served as an election judge at the Athmar Recreation Center in Denver. I was a machine judge, responsible for setting up, monitoring, and securing two voting machines at Athmar, required for use by persons who have difficulty with printed ballots.

I also was a judge for the last General Election in 2012, when I helped voters obtain the proper ballot for their precinct. The process then involved looking voters up in printed books. This time, the voter lists were computerized. There were the inevitable glitches, but no voter was denied the right to vote.

Here Come the Judge

I was not very busy as a machine judge. In three days, the machines were used five times. I got a lot of reading done. I also worked at the table with the ballot boxes, helping voters cast their ballots and insuring security of the ballot boxes. Voters also got I Voted stickers. Those who came in to vote had lost their mail-in ballot or wanted to change a selection after they marked it in ink and ruined the ballot. No one said the dog ate their ballot.

Athmar also had a ballot drop-off station in the street in front of the Recreation Centers. Voters were able to drop off their ballots without getting out of their cars. I spent time out there as well, a welcome break from sitting at a table.

My fellow election judges were a delight to work with. Knowledgeable, helpful, dedicated, and friendly, they helped voters and helped the time go faster. There was one who was a bit annoying, but that is the case in any setting. I think I have been the annoying one at times.

A big part of the job is setting everything up before the polls open, and securing everything after the polls close. There is a lot of stuff needed at a polling place. Handling all that stuff is big, but assuring the security of all the ballots is the most important part. The voting machines had several kinds of seals that had recorded numbers we tracked to prevent any tampering. Each morning and evening the seals were checked and their numbers recorded.

There were other judges who handled the ballot boxes. They were locked open, seals applied, closed and locked when full and new seals applied. It would be very difficult to tamper with ballot boxes with all the security measures. There was also a police officer on site.

The big thing? The money! I was paid $10.00/hour for four hours training, and $11.00/hour for the election. About 28 hours as a judge. What a deal. Our supervisor had served four 17 years for that kind of money. That is dedication.

Saturday and Monday were fine. Tuesday, Election Day, went from 6:30 AM until 8:00 PM. That is one long day. It took the rest of the week to recover. Will I do it again? I’m not sure. I enjoyed it, but it sure is a strain for an old guy.

Posted in Election Judge, Memoirs, My Story, Stories

My Life With ADD/ADHD

Posted on October 27, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

My Song

At age 59, I was diagnosed with ADD. I was in a therapy session which was, like most of my therapy sessions over the years, going nowhere. My therapist stopped, looked at me and asked, “Have you ever been evaluated for ADD?” Well,no. No one had ever suggested it and it had never occurred to me.

That evening a computer search brought up several checklists. On the first one I took, almost every question was a head slapper. I was a match for 48 of the 50 questions. That therapist was not a big help for the ADD; most therapists aren’t. The diagnosis, however, changed my life. I had always known something was wrong. I just did not function like most people, and the stress of living in a world where I didn’t quite fit in was taking a physical toll.

I have a number of symptoms, including a short attention span if not wholly engaged, impulsivity, irritability, hyper focus at times, forgetfulness, poor attention to detail, trouble getting started, distractibility, poor memory, and absent-mindedness. Did I mention I forget stuff, like people’s names?

In my fifties I was treated for a bleeding ulcer, migraine headaches, had prostate surgery, rectal surgery, knee and back problems, hernias, and was involved in years of individual and couples therapy. Much of this was due to the stress of trying to function in a world of normies.

Work had ups and downs. I always had authority problems and often missed small details. I was never in enough trouble to get fired, but I had several of those long sessions with several levels of supervisors.

School was much the same way. I am fairly smart, so I almost always got by. In college things got worse. I couldn’t get by on brains and charm. I actually had to work, and found that if the subject matter or the instructor didn’t engage me, I literally could not do the work.

Brain Disorder

I remember a political science course with an instructor who was always patronizing with students and wanted us to learn about Communism by studying Yugoslavia. By the time I realized I was not going to learn anything there, it was too late to drop the course. Another F added to my list.

I lived with anxiety that I would do or say something wrong. I also have a lifetime of replaying the things I did do wrong. Even now, 13 years after the diagnosis, I obsess about things that happened long ago. I sometimes do things on impulse I later regret. To protect my self-esteem I defend situations I get myself into that are indefensible.

Recently at work I threw some things away that needed replacing, but the replacements are not ready. My impulse got my colleagues all stirred up, and the children who come to play don’t have stick horses to ride. I don’t think they minded that the old horses I threw away were worn out.

I get irritated by noise. Big crowds, barking dogs, truck traffic, elevator music, and crying children all get to me. A neighbor friend had a little girl that cried a lot. I found myself getting angry at her to the point of wanting to harm her. I decided then that having children was not an option. To my first wife’s disappointment I got a vasectomy. I’m not sure that was the right decision, but I often believe so. I have poor impulse control.

The diagnosis at age 59 changed my life. The first thing that happened is all sorts of feelings I had not allowed myself to feel came to the surface. Anger, bitterness, rage, sadness, frustration, and just plain pain surged out. I was not much fun to live with for a while. I told Carol that I just had to be those feelings.

After the old feelings subsided and I found a good therapist and a good psychiatrist, things rapidly improved. Cognitive therapy gave me coping strategies more effective than making trouble to get my prefrontal lobes to wake up. The medication helps with focus and awareness. I can sustain tasks, where previously I was terrible at mundane tasks. Now, I am just bad at them.

For me, the biggest change is that I can now write. I have always wanted to write, but the ADD did not allow me the focus to produce anything. Now, except for occasional bouts of writer’s block, I can write. All those years of not writing were not wasted, as I studied good writing. I also practiced doing clear, concise writing when writing the daily shift reports in the water treatment plants where I worked. One or two paragraphs, but I got some practice.

Today, I have gratitude. I can manage the ADD (mostly), I have a wonderful marriage, a comfortable retirement, and I can write. What a long, strange trip it’s been.

Posted in ADD/ADHD, Memoirs, My Story, Pain, Stories, Writing

Why I Read and Write

Posted on October 13, 2014 by Bill One comment

Writer and Helper

I have been a reader since I learned how reading Donald Duck comic books in kindergarten. In first grade, Dick and Jane were boring compared to Scrooge McDuck diving in his three cubic acres of cash. I read most everything in sight. I have to know.

At home, there was a lot to read. The living room was dominated by a round oak dining table cut down to coffee table height. It was piled with newspapers, magazines, and books. My father had subscriptions to Time, Newsweek, Life, The Saturday Evening Post, Reader’s Digest, Outdoor Life, Redbook, National Geographic, and Cosmopolitan. Mother had Ladies Home Journal. I had Boy’s Life.

The Grand Junction Daily Sentinel and the weekly Fruita Times were always there. Mother belonged to a book review club, and we had those Reader’s Digest Condensed Books. We had lots of railroad history and books about regional topics. I read it all. Well, not all. Father had Cosmopolitan and Redbook for the romances they ran every month. Not for me.

I read a lot of the stuff boys read in those days. Mark Twain, Jack London, Hemingway, Richard Henry Dana, James Thurber, and Dickens were influences. I think my biggest influences were Mark Twain, with his descriptions and humor, and Richard Henry Dana’s Two Years before the Mast. In fact, I think I will reread that one. It combined a great adventure for a young man with fine writing.

Today, most of my reading is nonfiction. John McPhee is my favorite writer. He writes on a wide range of subjects, almost all of his topics interest me. He does have a book about fish for some inscrutable reason. He combines humor, good stories about the people he finds, extensive research, and clear writing. I even read his fish book.

I have wanted to write for as long as I can remember, but I just could not muster the discipline to do so without the pressure of a school assignment. Instead, I read. I did do well with college writing assignments. I think I had assimilated enough good writing that I did well as long as the topic engaged me. Most topics did so for two reasons, I picked courses that engaged me, and instructors that challenged me.

I even wrote some papers for other students, usually forestry majors at Colorado State who could not write themselves out of a paper bag. I charged $10.00 per page, pretty good money in the late 1960’s. Strangely, I still could not write things for myself. I had to have a deadline.

At age 59, I found out why. I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. I got cognitive therapy and medication. The therapy gave me skills to cope with the disorder that are more effective than the adaptation I had used for many years, mainly making enough trouble to get my midbrain revved up enough to fire up my prefrontal lobes. The other method that worked was the pressure and anxiety of an upcoming deadline.

I still use those methods, but I can often just sit down and write. I still have to have a topic that engages me, and there are those times when the words just will not come. The ancients wrote about the Muses, goddesses who brought inspiration to writers, and how sometimes they just do not attend. I don’t know about the explanation, but I understand the problem.

I like to go to a coffee shop to write, it helps me focus on what I am doing. At home there are too many distractions. I used to call writing the hardest work known to humankind. Sometimes that is true; sometimes writing is easy and just flows out of me. I do know it is one of my favorite things to do.

Posted in Memoirs, My Story, Stories, Writing

Pearl Pass Part One

Posted on September 8, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

Road to Ashcroft

On Wednesday, September 3, I drove over Pearl Pass. Pearl is one of those four wheeling trips that have been on my list for a long time. My grandmother, Pearl Willits Shanks, drove a team and wagon over the pass when the Willits family moved from north Texas to Colorado in 1887. Pearl was 12 when she drove over the pass. She may have been a Texas girl before Pearl Pass, but she was a mountain girl after that.

The road was built as a toll road in the early 1880’s from the railhead in Crested Butte to the newly discovered silver mining area in Aspen. It was in use until the railroads came to Aspen in the late 1880’s. The main use was hauling coal from mines at Crested Butte to Aspen.

Today the road is much like it was in the nineteenth century. From the start of the four wheel drive portion until it drops into the valley on the Crested Butte side it has no dirt, just rock.

The Bad Ledge

Fist sized rocks, baby head sized rocks, rock ledges, big rocks in narrow places, and big rocks in the middle of the road. One can grow tired of rock.

It is also narrow, made for wagons a long time ago. There is no room for error. In reading about the pass, most of the reports involving trouble were where a vehicle got too far to the side. When that happens, there better be good help available, because it is a long way to the bottom if the vehicle rolls over.

I was able to drive over all those rocks with no real damage to my Toyota Tacoma other than losing a mudflap. The forest ranger had suggested a Jeep Rubicon. I find my Toyota does just fine, although I may add a limited slip differential someday.

The Road and a View

At the Summit

This is probably the most difficult road I have driven. Steep, narrow, and did I mention rocky? I will do it again. The history is important to me, the story of my family. I spent the afternoon on that road marveling that a 12 year old girl from flat Texas could marshal the courage to drive a wagon over that hill.

I don’t know how long the entire trip from Crested Butte to Ashcroft, 10 miles from Aspen, took the Willits family. I do know that they misjudged the time it would take to get over the highest part and did not get off the hill into Ashcroft until 11:00 PM.

That road is scary enough in daylight. At night? It is good that horses are better at seeing at night than we are. Once I got down into the timber on the Crested Butte side, the alternating sunlight and shadow made it hard to see any serious obstacles. I can just imagine what Pearl was feeling.

I have given you some history and road condition information about Pearl Pass. My next piece will be about the other big attractions. The Elk Mountains that the pass traverses are some of the most spectacular and geologically unique mountains in Colorado. Next time.

Posted in Colorado History, Colorado Mountains, Family History, Four Wheeling, Memoirs, My Story

Four Wheeling for 65 Years

Posted on September 2, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

Camping with my Nissan 4x4 in the Maze District

Camping with my Nissan 4×4 in the Maze District

My first four wheeling memory is from deer hunting season somewhere in the early 1950’s. We were staying at a neighbor’s ranch near Douglas Pass with a large party. We went up a creek in a WWII surplus Jeep. There must have been eight or ten people on and in that Jeep. We got up high on a rough road and a front axle broke. I was too young to know much of what was going on, but I did know the Jeep was broken and we were a long way from the ranch. A couple of the men were pretty handy and managed to pull the broken axle with a Crescent wrench and a screwdriver, all the tools they had. My father was impressed and we made it back to the ranch.

Other four wheeling trips were to what is now Canyonlands National Park. I don’t remember whose Jeep we were in, but we four wheeled over Elephant Hill into Chesler Park. The Elephant Hill road is still open, but Chesler Park was closed to vehicles many years ago. My father didn’t have a four wheel drive in those years, but we went places in our 1953 Chevrolet pickup that are considered four wheel drive only these days. Many of the roads were to fishing areas on Grand Mesa.

1953 Chevy

There just were not many four wheel drive vehicles in those days, so people made do. In the Bookcliffs area, famous for slick shale roads, there were many hills with a pile of rocks at the bottom of the grade. People stopped, loaded the rocks into the bed of the two wheel drive pickup for weight, and climbed the hill and went where they wanted to go, and unloaded the rocks on the way out.

WWII and Modern Jeeps

Army surplus Jeeps became fairly common in the 1950’s, but they were fairly primitive. 35 miles per hour was about what they would do on the highway unless the owner added a Warn overdrive. They also broke a lot. I remember walking home from across the river from Fruita when the steering linkage fell apart on a surplus Jeep.

Later, in the 1970’s, four wheel drive vehicles became more common. New and modernized Jeeps, International Scouts, Broncos, Blazers, and four wheel drive pickups became fairly common. My father had two Scouts, an early Jeep Cherokee; and his first four wheeler, a 50’s Jeep wagon with a Chevy small block V8.

The first Scout got us into trouble on Elephant Hill. We were coming out after dark and as we got to the top of the hill, bouncing over the slickrock, the engine quit. It would not start, so we walked the four miles or so to the Canyonlands Resort. At that time the owner flew tourists over the canyon country, ran the resort, and flew the occasional polygamist away from the law. We waited for him to finish an enormous plate of venison and biscuits, got into his big Ford ¾ ton pickup, and went to the Scout. He towed the Scout about 50 feet and it started. The carburetor float must have stuck and the bouncing knocked it loose.

When I started buying four wheelers I got Japanese pickups. They cost less, are reliable and capable, and after all, a feller needs a truck. I just don’t like buying lots of gas for a truck. My current ride is a 2009 Toyota Tacoma 4 cylinder standard cab. Toyotas have grown, it barely fits in our new 20 foot garage.

My Taco

There are two basic types of four wheelers. There are those who four wheel to go to interesting places that require four wheel drive, and those who enjoy the sport of going to difficult places. There is overlap, but those lifted and modified vehicles are for hard core wheeling and showing off. I have a four wheel drive pickup to go places. My Tacoma is stock.

Southeastern Utah is a favorite destination for both types of four wheelers. The Moab Rally every spring brings hardcore rock crawlers from all over the country. There is so much to explore that is accessible because the uranium boom of the 1950’s brought about much road building into areas that had been horseback only.

My favorite area is the Maze District in Canyonlands National Park. 70 miles of dirt road to the ranger station, then many more miles of four wheel drive to places like the Doll House, which has access to the Colorado River just below the confluence with the Green.

This summer seems to be devoted to going over passes. I won’t name them all, but the next one is Pearl Pass. My 12 year old grandmother drove a team and wagon over that pass in 1887. I am a bit older and my team is motorized.

Posted in Four Wheeling, Memoirs, My Story

Over Passes and Through Woods

Posted on August 26, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

West from Mosquito Pass

I have already written about nearly killing myself on Mosca Pass the week of August 24, 2014. After that little adventure, I continued my trip as planned. My goal all year is to get over Pearl Pass, the one my grandmother drove a wagon over when she was 12 years old in 1887.

Pearl Pass often does not open until late in the season every year, and 2014 is no exception. There are two snowdrifts blocking the road just below the summit. Maybe later in September.

There are lots of other passes, however, and I went over 13 or 14, depending on how you count. Passes go over the divide between two drainages. For example, Pearl Pass marks the divide between the Roaring Fork River that goes to the Colorado River in Glenwood Springs, and the Taylor River that drains to the Gunnison River in Gunnison.

The complication is at Ute Pass, which marks the divide between Fountain Creek and the South Platte in South Park. Right near there is Tracy Hill, not called a pass, but is the divide between the South Platte and the Arkansas Rivers. So, did I go over one, two, or three passes when I came from Woodland Park to Cripple Creek?

So, here is the list: Ute Pass, Tracy Hill, Mosca (I just went to the summit), Medano, Poncha, Marshall, Waunita, Cumberland, Cottonwood, Mosquito, Red Hill, Kenosha, and Guanella Passes. Let’s call it 13 or 14 passes.

From Denver, I went via Deckers (probably going over yet another pass) to Cripple Creek and down the Phantom Canyon Road to Highway 50 outside Florence. Then I drove to Wetmore (and another pass) and to the wet Mountain Valley and Mosca Pass, where I camped.

Next morning it was Medano Pass, first crossed by Americans in 1807 when Zebulon Pike, searching for the Red River, groped his way into the Rocky Mountains, over the pass, and wintered in the San Luis Valley, mistaking the Rio Grande for the Red.

Medano is interesting and worthwhile, with a long drive through private property to Forest service land and the climb to the summit. It is four wheel drive, but not too bad, and not marred by those annoying ATV’s buzzing around because they are not allowed into the National Park.

From the summit, the road descends down the

Medano Creek

Medano Creek canyon, which burned in 2010. It recovering nicely. The road crosses the creek several times and is sandy lower down. I had no problems ignoring the Park service signs telling me to lower the pressure in my tires for better flotation in sand. I have always thought that is for Californians, not us mountain people. I met no other cars.

From the sand dunes I went up the vast San Luis Valley and over

Marshall Pass

Marshall Pass, the narrow gauge Rio Grande Railroad route into the Gunnison country. I like old railroad routes. I then bounced over more bad roads to Taylor Park, intending to go over Taylor Pass. I started up the steep four wheel drive road, decided my sore body had had enough, turned around, went over Cottonwood, and got a motel in Buena Vista. That hot shower sure felt good. I found chicken mole enchiladas in a restaurant there.

The next morning was Leadville and Mosquito Pass. The Lake County people are missing out not promoting the roads around Leadville for off-roading. Taylor Park is overrun with ATV’s. I met no one on the roads above Leadville. Good for me, bad for depressed Leadville.

Mosquito Pass is world famous, and the road is a challenge. My stock Tacoma was fine, but the road is steep and very rocky. They ain’t called the Rocky Mountains for nothing. It is a spectacular trip, with views of some of the tallest mountains in our state. I will do it again.

From Mosquito Pass I went down to Fairplay and home via Guanella Pass, another of my favorites.

Posted in Current Activities, Memoirs, Stories

Geology on The Highway of Legends

Posted on August 4, 2014 by Bill Leave a comment

Spanish Peaks and a Dike

I went on a tour of Southern Colorado’s Highway of Legends with a group from Colorado’s Cherokee Trail chapter of the Oregon California Trail Association. Berl Meyer, our chapter president, summers in Cotopaxi, on the Arkansas River. He rambles around Colorado looking at the geology and the mountains. He is from Kentucky, so has a need to get away from relentless green.

Berl organized the trip, having us meet in La Veta. For me the trip had two segments. Colorado geology is one of my interests, and the Highway of Legends country has some world famous geology.

The Spanish Peaks south of La Veta, are relatively recent (geologically) igneous intrusions that rise to over 12,000 feet in elevation. Located fairly far east for the Rockies, they served as important landmarks for early explorers and travelers. When the intrusions barged in, they bulged and fractured the existing rock layers, and a series of vertical dikes radiate from the mountains.

Cucharas Pass is between the Spanish Peaks and the Sangre de Cristo mountains. At 9,995 feet, it is another lovely Colorado mountain pass. There are lots of dikes, and on the south side of the pass is Stonewall, at first look another dike, but this feature is a vertical wall of Dakota sandstone, pushed on edge by the Spanish Peaks uplift.

We had a startling encounter at Stonewall. We had stopped for a break and to look the stone wall over when we had a visit from a Greek god. Most people don’t know, but the gods are still with us. They travel the world keeping track of events and people. This particular Greek god is one of the lesser ones, namely Hermes’ great uncle. The photo shows him as he was leaving.

The road then enters the coal country west of Trinidad. There is lots of history in that area, and a world famous geological feature. On the road to Trinidad Lake just outside Trinidad is an exposure of the K-P (formerly K-T) boundary that marks the end of the Mesozoic era and the beginning of the Cenozoic, or modern era. It is called the K-P because it is the boundary between the Cretaceous period and the Paleogene period. Below the boundary, dinosaurs. Above the boundary, no dinosaurs.

The boundary is a narrow band of whitish clay that fell when an asteroid struck off Yucatan and threw a tremendous cloud of material into the atmosphere, blocking the sun and cooling the entire planet. 75% of life on earth perished, including the dinosaurs. In a road cut on the way to the lake you can put your hand on the boundary.

There are exposures in many places around the world, including North Table Mountain in Golden, but this one is the most accessible. I have wanted to go there for a long time.

We went to the San Luis Valley, over La Veta Pass from La Veta. The valley is our own rift valley, formed as the movement of the Pacific tectonic plate drags some of the North American plate north. The motion pulls things apart, and a big block subsided, forming the rift valley. The Arkansas River north of Poncha Pass and the Rio Grande River mark the rift. (Real geologists, including Berl, don’t get the vapors at this explanation.)

Great Sand Dunes

On the east side of the San Luis Valley is The Great Sand Dunes National Park, another world famous geological feature. The sand for the dunes comes from the San Juan Mountains to the west. Normally, the sand would just keep going, blown over the Sangres to the plains farther east. In this case, a creek picks up the sand blown off the dunes and carries it back to the other side, replenishing them every spring. The result is a mammoth dune field, good for viewing, climbing, and tumbling down. The creek is good for play as long as it lasts into the summer.

Good geology, good scenery, and a good time. The geology is not a legend, however. It is the real thing, and students from geology departments all over the country visit and study in Colorado.

Posted in Colorado History, Current Activities, Geology, Memoirs, My Story

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