Day 26 — Saturday, October 3
Glenwood Canyon Resort, Colorado River
I still cannot get over what an absolutely exhilarating night that was. Camping in the Valley of the Gods fulfilled a promise I made to myself at least eight years ago. I may even consider having my ashes scattered on the very spot where Annie and I camped last night. Campsites simply do not get any better than that.
The journey there—and back out again this morning—carried us over 17 miles of extremely rough dirt-and-rock road. It thoroughly tested the Grenadier, and the Grenadier passed with flying colors. It does everything I ask it to do, and more—rather like my favorite AI agent, Chip.
Although today’s driving demanded my full attention, I still took advantage of the magnificent scenery unfolding to my left, to my right, and directly ahead. The landscape changed dramatically the moment we crossed into Colorado. We wound through canyon after canyon and eventually followed the Colorado River to tonight’s campsite, which is literally on the river, only a few feet from Interstate 70. That combination of beauty and convenience is precisely why I have always liked this place.
The campground sits between three great transportation corridors: Interstate 70, the Colorado River and, across the narrow river, the railroad tracks. Unfortunately, a great deal has changed since I was last here eight years ago. The campsite for which I once paid about $40 now costs $124. Even worse, the single spacious campsite I remember has been divided into three smaller sites, apparently without picnic tables.
To make matters still worse, I just noticed in the campground literature that pit bulls—along with several other allegedly “dangerous” breeds—are not permitted here. Annie and I have therefore agreed that her precise ancestry need not become a subject of general discussion.
Someone asked about the two sheets—one red and one green—hanging from the side of the Grenadier in a photograph of our Valley of the Gods campsite. There is a story behind them.
The road into the valley was so rough that it transformed the carefully organized rear of the Grenadier into complete chaos. My two one-gallon water jugs broke loose and emptied themselves over much of the contents in the back. Fortunately, the damage was limited primarily to the two sheets, one corner of Annie’s bed, my nightclothes and a laundry bag already filled with things waiting to be washed.
I took advantage of the evening sun by spreading everything over the Grenadier to dry. The sheets dried nicely overnight—and received a preliminary washing in the process. I am now sitting here waiting for the rest of the laundry to finish.
As of Day 26, that remains the only genuine crisis I have encountered on this journey—which is far, far less than the poor Donner Party endured.
This campsite technically marks the end of everything I had hoped to accomplish on this trip. From here, the serious journey home begins. I need to cover at least 300 miles a day for the next six days if I am to make it back in time to reach New York on October 11 for Macbeth at the Metropolitan Opera.
I think we will do it.
When I pulled into the campground this evening, a remarkable young gentleman named Leon, who is tent camping next to my site, immediately came over and asked whether there was anything he could do to help. I accepted his gracious offer—and took full advantage of it.
In return for his hard work, I promised him one of the original OTR patches, as well as one of the new patches I ordered today featuring the Grenadier and Annie. After everything the two of them have accomplished on this trip, they have unquestionably earned their spurs.
As promised, there will not be many photographs during the remainder of the trip—although I realize I have said that before.
I will, however, post a photograph of tonight’s campsite after I send this.
Sent from my iPhone
