Return to Wet Mountains

A road trip across Kansas to southeast Colorado

Intent on making the jump to Florence in one day, we followed an unusual path on this excursion, enduring the insanity of I-70 and the endless prairie of Kansas. Both are a test of endurance, no matter how you slice it.

The singular intentional stop for the day quickly arrived and in no time, we were exploring an odd little place along our route. Or rather, I was exploring. My comrade left her hiking shoes in the car, so stood on the edge and took photos from above.

Paint Mines Interpretive Park is fun little spot with a colorful geology, and 6.5 km of trails that wander through the various colorful spires and hoodoos. Just a couple of kilometers off US-24, it is the perfect place to take a break from the road.

We only lingered an hour or so and were quickly on our way to our destination for the day. Rush hour in Colorado Springs gave us a fit with an endless parade of signal lights, along with a multitude of drivers unaware anyone else was out on the road, but we made it to Florence just in time for dinner.

. . .

A look around the nearby Wet Mountains filled the agenda the next day. Our host and guide needed to break down his camp from earlier in the week, and had a couple of things to show us. We also wanted to stop and visit Mr. Bishop at his castle first.

It is always amazing to see the progress on this colossal masterpiece high amidst the San Isabel National Forest. He continues his work personally, laying everyone stone himself, but usually has a little Bobcat assistance these days.

From there, we headed out to the western slope of the range, just beneath St Charles peak, for a panoramic look at the Sangre de Cristo range. There is usually quite a view, but recent fires in the west have caused a bit of a haze.

The air was crisp and clean here at 3 km above sea level, and only a little cool at about 10° C. Aspens were just beginning to turn, and offered splashes of yellow here and there. The mountains were only beginning to settle in for the winter.

Wandering back along the way we had come, we drifted through a path of destruction in the high forest. Sometimes in patches, but most in wide swaths, trees were laid over like so many toothpicks blown over. Serious winds have flown through here, perhaps of the microburst variety.

The camp site was just around the bend, in a high alpine meadow near St Charles peak false summit. The setting for a cooking up a little lunch break could not have been more perfect. Indeed, leaving such a peaceful setting was difficult. There was work to be done though, and we were expected back at the ranch that evening.

Getting back took a little longer than expected, and involved dodging quite a few other vehicles. It was the last weekend for black powder hunting, and it seemed everyone was headed up into the hills to try their luck.

The evening was as casual as the day had been. We made a trip to town for a little BBQ and brew, but were nearly thwarted by a hairy-legged monster obstructing our path. It did not seem to want anything more than to be photographed and be on its way, fortunately.

Good company and the quiet solitude of rural life in the shadow of the Wet Mountains filled the remainder of the evening. Stars twinkling against a fantastic view of the Milky Way, along with the occasional coyote yelp are a backdrop one could easily get used accustomed to, without any effort at all.

. . .

We lounged around the ranch the following day, visiting and generally enjoying the company of folks do not get to see nearly enough.

Late in the afternoon, we ran down to the local golf course to aid in the reduction of the mole population. This learning experience will come extremely useful in addressing the problem in our own environment.

Otherwise, we simply watched the evening sun fade away beyond the mountain tops. Stars were few that night, obliterated by increasing clouds, but the stillness and occasional coyote yelp remained.

. . .

We begrudgingly pointed our vehicle easterly the following day, in the general direction of home. Making the trek back across CO-96/KS-96 was a greater chore than we had imagined. Last year, it seemed perfect on the way out to Colorado. It is much harder going back the other way though.

The road is somewhat interesting for a little while, but that ends somewhere between Olney Springs and Sugar City, quickly fading to monotony sometime near Eads. We were anxious to get to our diversionary break that day, even though it promised more of the same flat and empty landscape.

The Sand Creek Massacre National Historic site lies just to the east of all of that, close to the Kansas border, near the edge of mental collapse. We were so happy to finally arrive, in more ways than one. There had not been an open facility for many miles. We listened avidly to the brief talk the ranger greeted us with, and eagerly inquired of the facilities, which we acquired access to post-haste.

Relieved, time was no longer quite so pressing. A short hike led us to an overlook of the battlefield (if one can really call it that). The documentation seems to indicate a slaughter of innocents by a soulless commander. This is truly one of those embarrassing points in American military history, preserved to help future generations understand what is and what is not acceptable.

The road consumed our life for the rest of the day. Flat, straight, and unwavering, it can be rather hypnotizing. More than anything else, it is a drain on the soul. It might be good to live out there, far away from civilization, but passing through is nearly intolerable.

. . .

After a night of rest from the road in Great Bend, we were back at it again, with a few stops scheduled to ensure we were not consumed with utter boredom. The first was just a little way up the road, and the second, closer to home.

We noticed Mushroom Rock State Park on our pass through last year, read a little about the spot since that time, and thought it might be an interesting diversion. It is, for about 15 minutes. There is not a lot to see there. A couple of solitary hoodoos scattered around a field also littered with an amazing number of butterflies.

The Heritage Center in Abilene served up quite a bit more fun, with a carousel and a bit of a living history museum. We jumped on board the 1901 Parker Carousel for a ride, but only casually looked about the museum artifacts. Knowing there would be other occasions, we wanted to save a little for the next adventure west.

After that excitement, and grappling with the thought of staring down another 240 km of Kansas, it was time for a little ice cream. The woman at the carousel recommended Bankes Soda Fountain, what turned out to be a great little old-style drug store type of situation.

With a butterscotch malt under my belt, and a cherry malt in the tummy of my comrade, we faced the vehicular population of I-70 with a greater degree of confidence. While no more interesting than before, a parade of billboards, and dodging the occasional vehicle generally helps to keep one more aware.

As with the last trip, we dropped through Lawrence for a little sustenance. The Free State Brewery was closed for some reason or another, forcing us towards other options. Jefferson’s turned out a perfect alternative, serving up a great burger, with a side of refreshment from the closed brewhaus down the street. Suddenly, the 75 km home was less daunting.