Google Maps
After an overnight stop in Lander, Wyoming, I hit the road for Colorado, to Steamboat Lake State Park. I stopped in a diner on the way out of town (1 calendar). While eating at the counter, I had a conversation with another patron and the waitress about the treatment of their home turf on television. They said “Yellowstone” was nonsense. A gunfight every day, really? Particular ire was saved for “Longmire”. In one scene, the sheriff finds a dead body. After an initial look around, he wraps it in a blanket and throws it in the back of his pickup. The waitress said … “Like, you know, we have ambulances here too!” I suggested the treatment of, say, New York City, was similar. Somehow, they were not quite as sympathetic to that idea.
As I was about to shove off, I plugged the park into Google Maps. A little over 4 hours, no big deal. The first leg was a long shot through the Wyoming Desert, and then through the Rockies as I moved into Colorado. As I headed south, a 30 to 40 mile per hour crosswind constantly pushed the van into the oncoming lane, mostly devoid of cars. The wind also tried to extend my awning, causing an ear busting warning alarm. For some bizarre reason I had cell service, and I called Airstream to see if I could disable the alarm. Old Josh on the other end listened to my issue and said “Ahhh, hold on a minute while I look into this.” A few minutes later, he reported back. “Ahhh, there is a fuse you can pull, ahhh, but it’s not easy to get at. You need to remove the driver’s seat.” (RV stand for ruined vacation, BTW). I told him I would figure it out. The awning has a sensor that tells the van its open. The wind was disengaging the sensor. I tried climbing up and taping the awning shut. That worked for about a mile. What I really needed to do was extend the awning and retract it and push it shut, but if I did that the awning would likely break right off in the wind. I finally found a place where I could position the van out of the wind and get it locked down. No screeching alarm for the next 150 windy miles … big win for the home team.
The road south took me through the Wind River Gorge on the Wind River Indian Reservation, aptly named. It’s a desolate place, the scene of the grim movie “Wind River” with Jeremy Renner. As I got near Colorado, the character of the landscape began to change. Yellow Aspen trees, already in their fall regalia, contrasted against the pines as the mountains rose out of the desert. I began to notice a frightening thing on Google maps — the mileage indicated to the destination was X miles, but the time required to cover the distance was much more than one might expect. Alarm bells went off — Rosie, get out the machetes, I bet it is taking us on a road we have to hack our way through. This has happened to me before. The mapping algorithm takes the shortest path, even if it requires the aid of oxen. I soldiered on, heading south on RT 17.
A sign appears, pavement ends. The next 13 miles or so was a twisty gravel road down through a national forest. From there, the algo wanted to put me on more small roads through the mountains, roads with at least 4 digit reference numbers. Rule number 1, no roads with more than 3. I decide to head west, based on my wet finger in the air. I finally get to bustling Baggs, Wyoming – gas station and not much else. I can turn south there to the town of Craig, CO, which I recall from the map to be due west of Steamboat Springs. Google keeps trying to send me over the Rockies on County Road 5432xxx. I make Craig, then turn towards Steamboat Springs.
Not bad, added two hours. Steamboat Lake is about 30 miles north of Steamboat Springs, and I am on a 2 digit highway to Springs. About 30 minutes in … I can smell dinner, only gas station ding dongs since breakfast … a detour. Rural mountain pass detours are something to admire. As we have already learned, there are precious few ways over the mountains that can accommodate much more than a goat. The detour sends me and my fellow travelers south, way south, then back east, way east, until a turn north to Springs. I have the poor fortune of following, along twisty mountain roads, a cement truck. Its exhaust stack reminded me of Pittsburgh in its heyday. 15, maybe 20, miles an hour. Between Airstream chats, a few stops, Google maps proclivity for unpaved roads, and smoke-filled detours, I roll into Steamboat Springs after 8 hours on the road, night coming, and still not to the campsite. I give up, call the local KOA, and stay for the night.
Now what? I had already given up a night on the lake to cut the drive through Wyoming in half, and another from exhaustion. I decide to stay put (one of those jerks who does not show up for a paid site). The Yampa river runs right through Steamboat Springs, and there are fly fishing signs everywhere. I take a shot and call a local outfit to see if they have a guide for tomorrow. This is a bold step. My Grandson once said to me … “Grandpop, how come you have all these fishing rods and never catch any fish.” They do have an opening, and I agree. $550 for half a day (he upsold me on private ranch access), plus tip for the guide. Sucker money, right? Wrong.
I left Steamboat for New Mexico, again splitting the trip into two legs. The scenery as I climbed the mountains out of town was beautiful. The drive was largely uneventful, other than the mass of broken glass that covered the highway as I came down the other side. Cars with blown out tires littered both sides of the road. A little further down, a small pickup was ablaze – I think the tire blew and the RV pulling the pickup was not aware, dragging it until it erupted. After the mountains I moved back into the desert, rough country aside from the hipster coffee bar and café that popped out of nowhere. Weird. Could have been Brooklyn. Most of it looked like this ….
The overnight campground happened to be near Great Sand Dunes National Park, and I was able to go in early the next morning. Against the mountain backdrop, largest sand dunes in the country. There were lots of kids gearing up to “snowboard down the dunes”. A young couple told me I could rent a board at the visitor’s center. Not a chance. Off the New Mexico.
