Day 3: Manitou Springs, CO to Durango, CO

Manitou Springs is like Gatlinburg. Instead of the Smokeys, you're in the front range of the Rockies. Instead of fudge and religious t-shirts, you have tattoos and weed t-shirts. The big attraction is the Pikes Peak Cog Railroad, which takes you all the way up the mountain in about 90 minutes, then allows you about 10 seconds to eat, use the bathroom, take photos and update your Facebook status. As my uncle predicted in line, we were seated next to the three most misbehaved kids on the train. They formed a fugue with the conductor which went something like:

"The Cog Railroad was invented by..."

"I'M BORED!"

"Pike's Peak is home to marmots, big horn sheep...'

'I WANT TO SEE A TARANTULA!"

"Katharine Lee Bates was inspired to write 'America The Beautiful' after riding up Pikes Peak..."

"I SMELL FRENCH FRIES!"

The rest of the day was an epic road trip in itself. First, we went up to the Cripple Creek area to visit an old friend: Phantom Canyon Rd. This is the kind of road you can only find in Colorado. It twists and turns for about 25 miles down to Canon City--the armpit of the state. The speed limit is seldom above 20 mph and road signs along the way include "NARROW BRIDGE"  "PRIVATE PROPERTY" and my favorite, "FREE RANGE."  You go through two tunnels and by the time you hit the end of Phantom Canyon,  your butt is numb, but a little disappointed to be on pavement again. 

Whether it was a GPS hiccup or post-Phantom delirium, we drove a circuitous route to Pueblo before heading over to the Great Sand Dunes. We were only in Pueblo a few minutes, but the most exciting part of that journey was avoiding a U-Haul that had swerved into my lane. If Canon City is Colorado's armpit, maybe Pueblo is the appendix.

The Great Sand Dunes may supplant White Sands, New Mexico as my favorite place in the U.S. The dunes are formed by wind that carries sand from one set of mountains, but can't get it over the second set. Or something like that. The dunes look like they have no business being there and they are awesome. The beauty and the stillness made me feel giddy--the same feeling I had the last time I saw White Sands when I was five. 

I took as many photos as I could and a stranger kindly took a group photo of all of us. The stranger was from Cincinnati and didn't bat an eye when we did our O-H-I-O pose. He also didn't shut up. He was pontificating about Vietnam and other topics when we nodded and shuffled away from him.  Kind of hard to make a graceful exit when you're in the middle of nowhere.

The Adventure Van then took us from nowhere to nightmare along a stretch of Highway 160, now forever dubbed "White Knuckle 160." I've been in some nastiness. I live in Atlanta. But this was a different level. This was Nature. We were later than planned, so it was getting dark. OK. The road was twisty up into Wolf Pass. OK. Deer. OK. More deer. Uh, OK. More deer. DID THEY JUST MOVE TOWARD US?! (Brake. Swerve. GLOWING YELLOW EYES.) Rain. Dammit. Lightning. #$%^ my life. There were so many road hazards at once, it was like we were on a test track for Toyota. I gripped the passenger door as my uncle piloted The Adventure Van through the chaos. I sang along to Tom Petty, James Taylor and other mellow rockers on Sirius XM. I focused on the GPS. The reassuring "Mandy" was nowhere to be heard. The miles went down achingly slow. And then, we came across the gaudiest road warning I've ever seen. Six flashing yellow arrows pointing left with dots of red and God knows what else. It was like a casino sign on Fremont Street. All it needed was a neon Grim Reaper waving a scythe. 

We finally made it to Durango, where we passed a sign for a hotel that advertised "Hot Tub and 420 friendly." Our rooms at the Travel Lodge were not that special. The pillows felt like paper and the bathroom, with its shower chair,  looked like an ad from AARP Magazine.

Three stars.

Five stars for being alive.