Mesa Verde National Park

Martha had signed us up this morning for a guided tour of this National Park called the  700 year Tour. 

 

"Travel back in time with an NAI-certified interpretive guide on a comfortable tour bus to see the complete picture of the Mesa Verde habitation for 700 years. The tour takes visitors thru a chronological view of the lives and culture of the Ancestral Puebloan people by stopping at a variety of archeological sites. Each stop will illustrate how the people adapted both architecture and social structure to meet the changing needs of their society."

 

Our tour guide was Jonathan, and I think this was our fourth or fifth guided tour on this road trip.  The right tour guide can be invaluable, and we have enjoyed informative tours in many places, from the Louvre to the Snake River in Jackson.  Jonathan was one of the best, personable and knowledgeable about archeology, botany, geology, culture, and history.  And he clearly loved what he was doing.  He also had a very cool mustache!  He wore a necklace of Native American "ghost beads," which are made from juniper berries and thought to represent "an interconnection of earth, trees, animals, and humans."  They are said to bring peace, harmony, and safety to the wearer.

 

In a tour that lasted all morning, he walked us through several archeological excavations dating back 700 years, beginning with very primitive dwellings.

 

We ended by viewing the cliff houses where the Anasazi – ancestors of the Pueblo people – had built.  This is Spruce Tree House, one of the best preserved dwelliings and the third largest in the Park, constructed sometime in the 13^th century.  It has around 130 rooms and 8 kivas (large rooms probably used for meetings) and was estimated to be the home of 60 to 80 people.

 

We finished up the tour back where we had begun, at the Terrace Café in Far View Lodge, where we had some lunch and then got on the road to our next destination.  On the drive from Durango along Highway 550, we kept climbing higher and higher, first passing through groves of aspens and then blue spruce and alpine meadows, topping out at 10,640 feet.  It was 44 degrees, which reminded me that some of our friends who were following this road trip has asked if we were being affected by the “heat dome” out west in August, which never affected us, least of all in Colorado.

 

The Section of Highway 550 from Silverton to Ouray is called the Million Dollar Highway, described as both the most beautiful road in America and the most dangerous road in America.  Built in the late 1880s, it has spectacular views of the San Juan Mountains but famously has steep descents and no guardrails.  I had been reading about the road in planning this trip, and even watched at least one hair-raising YouTube video, and I asked my friend Bob, who has traveled extensively out west, if he thought it would be safe to drive.  He told me he had driven it several times, in both directions, and that he thought I would be just fine.  We are used to driving the “Gorge Road” from Highlands to Franklin, he pointed out, which has similar cliffs, steep drops, and little or no guardrails in place. 

 

It was exactly as he had described, although I drove it very carefully, often crossing the double-yellow line when there was no traffic in the other direction.  It was raining and I also had to dodge rocks that had fallen onto the road.  The drop-offs were very unsettling!  We continued to descend the other side of the pass, and eventually arrived at our destination for the night, Ouray, Colorado, known as the “Switzerland of America.”

 

It was a pretty little alpine town, with high mountains all around in the background and unpaved side roads.  When we checked in at our hotel, we were told that there were no rooms anywhere in town, so I was thankful once again that we had made reservations months in advance.  I would not have wanted to return across the Million Dollar Highway to seek a room in Silverton.  Especially in the dark.

 

It was raining off and on, and we soon found that every restaurant in town was filled up as well as every room on this Saturday night.  We stopped at the Ouray Brewery (where I was told that the pronunciation was “YOU-ray”), which was completely booked.  However, we could take our chances on the outside terrace upstairs, where we might get pretty wet - it was raining steadily at that point.  So we climbed to a partially-covered rooftop terrace, where two kind young woman who were engrossed with their phones offered to let us share their covered picnic table.  We did not get very wet after all.  And now I know how to pronounce Ouray.