Day Twelve: Million Dollar Highway (550), Colorado

I know there's a heaven, I rode through it today.

Well, for starters, how's this for a picture? This was right after the pass on 550, outside of Oray, Colorado. Alpine meadows, magnificent mountains, flowers everywhere, the air was fresh and the puffy clouds provided a perfect backdrop. This was a fantastic ride, stunning vistas, heaven.

I had a crappy night, could not get any sleep despite the fact this pace was very quiet and pleasant. After some coffee and cereal, I said goodbye to the owners, who were very gracious and reminded me I need to look for more of these " mom and pop" motels.

I left Delta around 10 AM under cloudy skies that looked like rain was coming. I had checked the weather and it showed some possible rain over the mountains. I put on my rain layer, but ended up getting the jacket layer off in a parking lot some 30 miles later, the skies now cleared. I could not get rid of the pants rain proof layer, since it requires I take my pants off, never a good idea in a parking lot.

In the distance the snow capped mountains began to rise higher and higher and I was full of expectation for what I might find. I also looked for some cooler riding, after having spent so many days riding through deserts. The road began to weave right and left, the sort of road Blue really likes, much better than the miles and miles of boredom we had done on several occasions on this trip.

Shangri La, with beer

The San Juan Mountain range reminded me of  Switzerland, steep snow capped mountains, meadows, waterfalls. But this is the United States, Colorado, so you have that plus these delightful little towns that were once mining centers.

Oray, Colorado

I arrived in Oray around noon. The town is very cute, arranged as usual along a main street, old buildings that still keep their nineteenth century flavor. The whole town is on an incline, since it was founded probably on the only piece of semi straight ground they could find between one mountain wall and the one facing it. On account of this the left side of Main Street is higher by quite a few feet than the right side (facing the pass). The town literally sits on a hill, going down will, so to speak. This posed some problems when trying to park Blue, since I could not park nose in on the right side of the road since I would never be able to get the bike out of there

At the Oray Brewery, good food, good beer and nice people

(there is no reverse on
a motorcycle, for those of you who are not motorcycle inclined), and parking on the other side would put the bike at an angle I did not like To make matters more interesting, the side streets are dirt. I mean, good old dirt. And they are also at an angle. I don't know if they are always like this, or this is because they are fixing them, but even the back streets were dirt. I finally found a spot next to where some German bikers had left their Harley, dirt of the gravelish kind, but uphill and fairly level. I would just have to be careful backing the bike out of there. But  first, lunch, as the smell or grilled meat that was coming over from this brewery just across the street caught my attention.

A lunch, with a view

Yes, it's water under the bridge...

The Oray Brewery is on a corner of Main street, topped by a terrace on the third floor where you can have one of their beers and look out on the gorgeous scenery. As I was ordering and talking to the nice waitress, she told me I should probably eat quickly since the pass would close at 1:30 and not open until 6:30 PM. This was 12:30. The pass, she told me, was only about a couple of miles up the road, and that I would have enough time. I ordered a beer (550 something or other, really good), and a burger, which was perfectly done and quite delicious. While waiting I struck up a conversation with this retired couple who were on a vacation trip, really delightful folks. I have met a lot of people on this trip, and it is always a joy to swap stories and just find out who these other travelers are.

(stock photo, I was too busy not falling over the edge)

I ate my burger, said goodbye to the good folks I had been talking to, and headed up the road. There had been a big rock slide and the road had been blocked. Crews had cleared it but they still needed to close it for several hours to allow the machinery to finish the job. One of the things everybody talks about when they mention the " Million Dollar Highway" is how scary. The road winds up the side of the mountain is a series of super tight hairpin turns, on one side the a vertical rock wall that climbs to the sky, on the other a sheer drop all the way down to, well not good. and off course, there are no guard rails. The reason for this is that during winter the snow crews need to be able to simply push the snow over the abyss, which makes you wonder how many snow plows you would find at the bottom of those ravines. Apparently none,as their crews are some of the best in the state, and manage to keep highway 550 open all winter, no small task. Guard rail or no guard rail, the drive, or ride in my case, is exhilarating but not scary, as you have to crawl up at 20 miles per hour. Still, if you have a fear of heights this might not be your cup of tea.

A note on names

More information here

There are several theories behind the name " Million Dollar Highway". One relates to its mining past and the claim that the road bed was filled with tailings from the gold mines and that there was still a lot of gold ore mixed with the gold. Another one, more modern, has to do with the feeling some folks get when they look out their car window and see nothing but space all the way down to the ravine, thus eliciting the old " you could pay me a million dollars and I would never drive this way again". For others, myself included, the view is worth a million dollars. Better yet, the view is priceless, so don't be afraid, it is truly worth it. Read more about it here.

As it turns out, getting there just before they closed the pass was a good thing because I think I was one of the last people to make it through. This, along with the fact I stopped at this beautiful meadow you see on the first picture, and stood there for a good half an hour, made it so that when I got back on the road, there was no one else going either way. I had this fantastic mountain road all to myself for a good 15 miles.

Elysian Fields

Going over the pass you meet with dust and dirt on the road form the heavy machinery that have been fixing it. It is narrow and I had to pay close attention to what I was doing. I stopped at a water fall to take pictures, and it seemed that at every turn you were looking at a perfect post card. Once  on the other side of the pass I came across this beautiful meadow with yellow flowers and green grass and a magnificent view of the mountains in the back drop. One car had also pulled over, and its occupants, this charming coupe from Australia, were sitting on a rock in the middle of the field having a picnic. I did not want to spoil their moment but did ask if they could take my picture (the one on top), they did and we struck up a conversation, comparing notes on our voyages, we both amazed that one day you can be in the desert admiring the crazy red spires of Moab, and the next you are in an alpine meadow looking at snow caped mountains and listening to a rushing stream go by.

It was hard to eave this place, its beauty was so intense, the view so elevating it almost brought tears to my eyes. I sat for a moment, and that was my prayer, that one moment, with the camera off, just letting my soul reach out and feel the incredible beauty of the moment. Master Yoda would have been proud.

I kept riding, telling myself I would go straight on to Silverton, but at the next bend another vista would open up and I had to stop. At one place, I pulled over and sat one what looked like God's balcony, a valley of green below me, and the ever presence high snows, like a silent chorus on a silent prayer.

Silverton, coffee and funny buildings.

The road kept going down the mountain until I got to Silverton, a cute little town with a huge main street, lined with brightly colored old buildings, and a steam train that links Silverton to Durango, and which has been running for more than 100 years. I went in to a store to buy a pin for my jacket and stayed to talk with the lady at the store, who had lived in California but had ultimately found a home here in the mountains of Colorado. Silverton lives from the tourist industry, skiing in the winter, outdoor sports in the summer.

When I asked for a place to get some coffee, the young attendant told me to go next door, she also worked there, and the coffee was good. i thanked her and walked over. There I met Steve,who was having lunch and wanted to know where I was traveling to, from, etc. Walking anywhere dressed in full motorcycle touring gear gets people interested. I liked Steve, there was something solid and kind about this man.

Meanwhile, back in 1968...

After Silverton the landscape opened up, and the magic of the mountains was quickly lost. I got into Durango, on what seems the very edge of the town and finally came across a crappy motel. It had to happen, and it happened here. This place, Spanish Trails, must owe its name to the time Spanish explorers were roaming lands not far form here in search of El Dorado. The rooms are old, the buildings are old, and, judging from the appliances, the last time this place was remodeled was in 1968. And then, after I unloaded the bike and took a shower, I find out someone had slept on the bed and the sheets had not been changed. I talked to the young attendant, who gave me what he described as " their best room", immediately above the other, that being the only distinction I can see. No one seems to have slept here,but I am not betting any money. As soon as the sun rises I am going to be out of here.

I really did not feel safe leaving my things behind. That, and because I was tired and in no mood to go find a restaurant, I walked across to the supermarket and picked up some sushi, or at least that is what they called their overprice dead fish covered bricks of rice.

I will go to bed now, forget about these trifle matters, and dream of Shangry La and my Elysian Fields. I was there today. I even have a picture or two to prove it.