As soon as I hit I-70 I started squinting at the western horizon, looking for mountains. I was still about 150 miles from Colorado Springs, but I guess I expected to see something other than clouds and haze.
The wind from the north was heavy. I saw a branch fly across the road and thought to myself that in a few days I'd probably see tumbleweed doing that.
A few minutes later I saw another one. I looked to the north and saw the fences covered with them. Out in the fields I saw even more.
I'd already seen tumbleweed. I just didn't expect it in Colorado.
Tumbleweed in the West has some things in common with kudzu in the South:
Around mile marker 370, about ten miles east of Limon, I thought, maybe, possibly, I saw something on the horizon that could perhaps be a mountain. Or some smoke.
At Limon I left I-70 and started down U.S. 24 toward Colorado Springs. Then I saw a mountain.
I knew it was Pike's Peak. There's no way it could have been anything else. I was still 70 miles of road from there, but it dominated the horizon.
As I got closer and closer to Colorado Springs the mountain got bigger and bigger, taller and wider until it seemed to take up half the sky. OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it seemed that way.
Along U.S. 24 I saw a sign that said
WELL-BROKE
HORSES
FOR SALE
in hand-painted, hand-routed letters.
As I was entering Colorado Springs I saw an airliner come in for a landing in front of the mountain.
By now I could see other mountains in the distance, but Pike's Peak seemed so close and so massive that the others were mere background.
Manitou Springs, just west of Colorado Springs, is a very traditional vacation town, like the Wisconsin Dells and Gatlinburg. The town it reminds me of the most is Eureka Springs, Arkansas, an old mountain resort with lots of storefronts converted to antique stores, ice cream parlors, t-shirt shops, and cafes.
I arrived at the cog railway station at 10:40, just as the train was leaving. I bought a ticket for the next train at 1:20 (over $20! Good, but worth that much?).
I decided to head for the Garden of the Gods to spend my waiting time, but on the way I was distracted by a yellow and red Vienna Beef sign. Margo of Margo's Vienna Station is a Chicago expatriate running a hot dog stand. She said that there are enough other former residents of the Windy City around to keep her in business.
She, too, thought it was a bit silly of me to drive 1200 miles for a Chicago hot dog.
(For those that don't know, a proper Chicago hot dog is a Vienna Beef dog on a poppy seed bun, with diced onions, bright green relish, sliced tomatoes, cucumber, and a pickle spear, with mustard and celery salt. Hot peppers are a proper option, but ketchup is not.)
After I finished my dog I stopped by the Garden of the Gods Trading Post. I didn't get a buffalo burger, since I'd just eaten, but I did buy some postcards.
I found
a pressed penny machine. It was of the kind that can produce four different
designs and was only 50 cents (so many are 75 cents these days (I don't count
the penny, since I get that back)). Two little girls were staring at it,
but apparently their mother didn't want to do it. I didn't want to interfere
with the way she runs her family, so I didn't buy pennies for them, but I
did let the girls turn the crank to make my two.
The Garden of the Gods is a large park full of red rocks and spires. There are allegedly animals there, too, but I didn't see any. I did see many people walking the paved and unpaved paths, and I saw (and photographed) several rock climbers.
I made it back to the train station in time to buy a tilt pen before my train loaded.
A couple of girls bought something before me. One was crying. The cashier said that it made her want to cry, too. I wanted to find out what had happened, to offer words of comfort, to do something. I didn't.
My seat was in the center at the very front of the train, with an old couple to my left and the driver to my right.
The cog train is so named because it has a third, notched, center rail. Cogs (toothed gears) on the train fit into these. The traction of the normal wheels on the rails is not sufficient for such steep climbs.
This railroad is over 100 years old, although I doubt they were using these Swiss made diesel trains at the time. It was built as a tourist attraction.
The first half hour of the ride is pretty boring. The train rolls up through forest, with nice waterfalls and rocks. It is very pretty, but that doesn't hold interest for long. The guide tries to keep things interesting, with lame cave-like names for rock formations and even lamer jokes.
The following hour, though, seemed much shorter. The train broke away from the surrounding trees, and the land below and nearby mountains were visible. We saw Ponderosa Pine and Quaking Aspen (without leaves). We also, unfortunately, saw rain and snow. Not the sometimes feet thick snow still on the ground. Falling snow.
We eventually left the trees behind and still had climbing to do. The tundra was just peeking out from snow cover.
It was cold at the top, below freezing, and the wind was fierce. I took a few pictures, called my parents on my cellular phone (I left a message), and went inside for doughnuts.
Zebulon Pike didn't make it to the top of the mountain bearing his name, but I did.
Just before the train left the station I started feeling dizzy and a bit queasy. This mild touch of altitude sickness (it wasn't really that bad) was much less severe than some of our party suffered. Our guide explained that they limit the time on the top to less than an hour, since people start to pass out after that. I foolishly thought it was so they could get more trainloads up and make more money.
We apparently had a high school choral group on our train, since they started singing on the way down, the sick ones joining in as the felt better.
I hopped onto I-25 and took off for Denver. I hit a nasty storm on the way up, and it took far longer than it should have. I checked into the hotel, already having decided that I was too tired to go out tonight and that I would write this up and go to bed. That's exactly what I have done.
Tomorrow I will head west across the mountains. I'm not sure exactly which way.