FIELD TRIP: ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH (PART 2)

JUMP TO EXTRA GOOD

Hello again and Happy September! We're here with Part 2 of our entry-level tour of Colorado's Rocky Mountains — thanks for returning! To ease back into things, let's start with some COLORADO COLOR.

If you ever road-trip to Colorado, just as you cross the state line, you'll be greeted by a similar version of this iconic, folksy sign:

It's an exciting moment, but you might notice the surrounding landscape above isn't actually colorful at all, which — contrary to what I once imagined — is true at most CO interstate boundaries. Crossing over, you might need to use your imagination for many miles to conjure Colorado's transcendent blue-green mountains, rust-red rocks, flittering golden aspens, white patches of high snow, rainbows of wildflowers, bluebird skies, luminous pink-orange sunsets, turquoise mountain lakes, sunny yellow asphalt-crack sunflowers, even the calming green of a vast alfalfa field. But really, depending on the season and especially in a dry, drought year like 2026, a lot of the non-mountainous state is kind of a golden-tan, dead-grass brown, which — from a distance — does have its own kind of beauty, like a soft golden carpet rolled out for the striking blue drama of the Rockies' Front Range. Welcome to Colorful Colorado!

FLOWER POWER

If you crave some extra technicolor in your life, you'll find it in most any summertime tourist-centric Colorado mountain town. Container gardening here is an art form ... and also maybe something of a competition? The designs are spectacular, and the humble sweet potato vine wins best supporting filler plant almost every time.

A few of the flower explosions from Basalt/Snowmass/Aspen, including one from this business that gets extra points for the sparkling clean water bowl resting in its shadow 🦮💙🌿:

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COLORFUL COLORADO SIDE STORY

Earlier this year, Rick and I were at the Denver Art Museum for its beautiful Pissarro exhibit; before leaving, we stopped by the museum gift shop. I always try to buy a postcard or two of my favorite works, and my personal rule (broken only once) is that I must see the real piece to earn the postcard, even if it means backtracking through several galleries. My eye caught a 4x6 print that looked more like soft, touchable embroidery than a painting. I wanted to buy the postcard with a clear conscience, so I asked a cashier if she knew where the piece was located. We followed her directions, exiting the building, crossing the street in the cold winter sunshine, taking the elevator to the 7th floor of the Martin Building, and — finally — spotting / beholding the painting just inside the entrance to the Western American Art gallery. Yeehaw, what a spectacular detour!

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NOTE: The Swedish artist Birger Sandzén painted this large, stunning view of Longs Peak as seen from Rocky Mountain National Park in 1927. I drive straight toward Longs Peak on the way to my orthodontist's office and sometimes find myself humming "For purple mountain majesties ..." to myself. THIS IS WHY!

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And now, back to PART 2 of our ROCKY MOUNTAIN road trip:

To jog your memory, Part I ended with our Aspen for Regular People section. Then, the day after Aspen, we got back in the car and drove an arched curve up and over to the western part of the Western Slope.

A map might help: Orange was our Day 1 drive to Basalt and our Day 2 hike in Snowmass and afternoon in Aspen // blue was our Day 3 day trip to Glenwood Springs and Palisade // fuchsia was back home via Leadville on Day 4. Do not drive through the mountains if efficiency is your goal 🚙.

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GLENWOOD SPRINGS + PALISADE/THE WESTERN SLOPE

I thought I had never been to the Western Slope (first error) and had no solid read on it. I knew the region was considered Colorado's fruit basket and imagined it existed along a wide, green, gentle incline at the softer edge of the Rockies. Incorrect. Way out west near Palisade, the rocky part of the Rockies ends abruptly in a long Wile E. Coyote cliff, making a massive eastern stone wall that locks in heat and protects all that scrumptious fruit. But there's more: only two weeks ago I learned that the Western Slope technically covers everything west of the Continental Divide, including Basalt-Snowmass-Aspen from this trip and Telluride, Ouray, Steamboat, Vail, and (barely) Breckenridge from previous stops along our Colorado Summer Circuit. Still a beginner on the subject of Colorado.

As for Glenwood Springs and Palisade, these two towns may sound a little less familiar and splashy than peak-chic Aspen, but each adds distinct dimension to the Rocky Mountain DNA.

Glenwood Springs is the top-of-the-triangle gateway to the Roaring Fork Valley to the southeast and fruit basket zone to the southwest; it is most famous for landmarks not on this trip's agenda. Hanging Lake is one of them; you need a permit to hike there, so you know there must be a good reward ... and there is. You might guess the other main highlight of Glenwood SPRINGS. You're right! GS is home to several natural hot springs, long prized for their therapeutic wonders. The set-up here is much less rustic than Steamboat's picturesque Strawberry Park Hot Springs mentioned last time: the ones in Glenwood Springs are more clear-pool experience / less algae-ed / more accessible / slightly less Instagram-y / more appealing (to me). The historic 1888 Grand Pool is over two city blocks in length; the more I look into it, the more I want to take a plunge 💦. Will report back!

Our limited Glenwood Springs highlights: a hat from Bullocks Western Wear and tacos-to-go from Slope & Hatch:

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From Glenwood Springs, you can drive southwest along 1-70 to Palisade, where our state's juicy golden peaches and other fruits grow. If you had asked before our move to Colorado where the best U.S. peaches are grown, I'd have game-show shouted, "GEORGIA!" And GA surely has some great ones, but I have since learned that the peach is Colorado's premier crop, and it will give any peach from any state a run for its money.

Along with peaches and sweet cherries, the hot, sunny Western Slope is also becoming known for its grapes and wine-making. This unlikely geography called for an investigation, so we toured, tasted, and charcuterie-boarded at Colterris Winery. Very good! You might smirk at the idea of Colorado wines, and historically they were very, very sweet and maybe cringey. But the local wine industry is evolving into something that can stand on its own; as it does, we'll consider this a highly enjoyable way to champion the underdog 🍷.

When we were still in Glenwood Springs, Bill — the Bullocks cowboy and western hat professional — said we also needed to stop by McLean Farms in Palisade for peaches and peach ice cream; though Bill is older and smaller, he's still 100% tougher than either of us, so we stuck to his suggestion. He did not steer us wrong! With our extreme CO drought, the peach season ended early, but a 90-year-old, 5th-generation McClean matriarch behind the counter — with sharp math skills and folksy banter — was still going strong 😀.

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We'll be visiting other towns along the (Far) Western Slope in the years ahead — Fruita, Grand Junction, Durango — timed for later in the Fall to avoid succumbing to heat stroke, which felt like a real possibility. The (Far) Western Slope is central to the Colorado story!

[P.S. and on topic: Have you read Go as a River by Shelley Read? It takes place among the peach orchards of the 1940s-60s Western Slope — not exactly feel-good, but I highly recommend!]

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OLD BASALT

The day after GS and Palisade, it was time to head home. After packing up and scouting for any parking lot bears (See Extra Good below), we drove to a local-favorite coffee shop/brewery in the older/original part of Basalt. This little tag-on excursion was practically an afterthought ... and then became one of the best parts of the trip.

A lucky-break feeling started growing when we crossed over a sparkling river and drove down the three-block-long main street in town. We found easy parking, Rick's coffee was sprinkled with golden bee pollen, the only two chairs by the river were wide open for us, and an honor-system town-sponsored mini-golf course sat right next to the restaurant I instantly regretted not choosing on Monday night. The other river in town was too far off our track that morning; it's called Fryingpan River, and I will return to sit beside it for the name alone. Remember how we first called Basalt Aspen-adjacent? That was really short-sighted of us. We will be back, and it will be independently-awesome Basalt forevermore 🤝.

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🔎 I SPY: CAN YOU SPOT MY BUSINESS CARD ADDED TO THE BASALT FLYER COLLAGE? 🔍

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HIGHWAY 82 AND LEADVILLE TOWARD HOME

From Basalt, there is a slow way back to Denver and an even slower way. We wanted to stop in Leadville for lunch, which called for the slower way on Highway 82. No rush / let's relax ✌️!

Still glowing with bee pollen and fresh river air, we drove from Basalt through downtown Aspen and then past its beautiful outlying valley creeks, trails, and meadows. So, so pretty. When the highway opened up, we returned to our ongoing Libby app audiobook, thinking we could now concentrate on Cold War-era espionage. Within a few minutes, I clicked it back off because I could not follow the story and clutch the car's center console and take pictures out the open passenger window all at the same time.

I think you know by now that I am afraid of heights, and Highway 82 / Independence Pass felt like a high-risk/high-reward drive for which I was mentally unprepared. Not relaxing! Scarcely any guardrails! Precipitous drop-offs! 10 mph hairpin turns! It occurred to me that if a driver sneezed, swerved, and overcorrected, an oncoming vehicle might be doomed. (Rick is a great driver but a dramatic sneezer, which might be why this came to mind.) To make matters worse, my 16 oz. Basalt coffee drink was now pressing hard on my bladder and — with the window wide open — a persistent horsefly kept biting my right arm. I was very on edge (LITERALLY), but I was also taking some of the prettiest pictures ever. A wondrously terrifying experience!!

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But look ⬇️! We safely made it to Leadville ... under leaden skies!

Back in the 1870s, Leadville was the Aspen of the silver mining era — a lively, spendy, sybaritic boom town. But then the silver market collapsed in 1893 and most of Leadville's prospects did, too.

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Leadville saw hard times, but it did not fold under. Its natural beauty remained as striking as ever, and the town shifted its prospects from gleaming silver to the pounding of feet and hooves.

Each August, burros and their humans team up for the Leadville Boom Days International Pack Burro Race ("Hauling Ass Since 1949!"); two of our couple-friends were among the many fans who booked hotel rooms and restaurants last month, boosting the local economy as they cheered the burro teams through town. And then there's the punishing, extreme-endurance Leadville Trail 100 Run, with competitors traversing 100 rugged miles over 30 hours up to 12,620 feet in elevation. Pat, my friend Kathy's husband, has Leadville-ed several times; I asked for a quote, imagining all the grueling, dark-night-of-the-soul suffering he'd describe.

Want to know the word he used again and again? MAGIC. Magic, magic, magic, magic. Magic for all the physical/mental pain and required perseverance + magic for his fellow competitors + magic for the llamas (click that link!) + magic for reaching the heights of Hope Pass + magic for family support teams along the way. This was the final proof I needed: there are regular humans like me in the world and there are super-humans who exist on a different/higher plane altogether ... some with supportive llamas by their side.

Leadville's message to you and to me (and to the burros and to the bleeding midnight runners) is ...

KEEP GOING

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Pat, I'm going to borrow your word to summarize our starter-pack skim of Colorado's Rocky Mountains: MAGIC. It's not all magic all the time — sky-high costs, diminishing snow, unrealistic real estate, parched air, blazing sun, altitude issues, crowded trailheads, bikers v hikers, natural predators, windshield rock chips, and non-magical mountain traffic on 1-70 — all that, yes, but still:

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EXTRA GOOD

ALSO LINKED THROUGH THE EXTRA GOOD PAGE HERE

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2026

1._GOOD-NATURED-ADJACENT: In the past month, bears have been crossing my path left and right ... so much so that it seemed like a sign to include them here in Extra Good. It's hard to know if we should actually describe bears as good (Winnie the Pooh / Paddington Bear / Chicago Cubs / Smokey the Bear = obviously good). We should absolutely salute their role in both folklore and the ecosystem, but most in real life seem terrifying. And I have extra concerns because I can never remember exactly what to do if one should truly cross my path. Get big? Get small? Be loud? Be quiet? Sing a song? Use a bell? Use spray? Respond differently with grizzly bears v. black bears? Do grizzlies even live in Colorado? What would happen if I just covered myself with leaves and curled up in a ball?

[We have been carrying bear spray lately, but we never bothered to read the directions on how to discharge the repellent. Mid-trail on this trip, I just FELT like we should learn. So we pulled out the can and fished out our readers to see the tiny, non-accessible, non-helpful-in-a-real-emergency black-on-orange print. We misread the directions and Rick accidentally sprayed himself ... which made us wonder if that might DRAW a bear to us out of curiosity. We choked on the orange pepper aerosol and quickly packed up, leaving and then returning for Rick's fallen-off sunglasses left in the dust. What a production. But good to get the kinks out early!]

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So no visible bears up in the wilderness that day, but by evening they were in our hotel parking lot:

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And in Aspen, faux-bears live on nearly every street, some as warnings, some as friendly graffiti (KINDNESS IS DOPE), some as elements of design.

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While we were up in the mountains amongst the real and not-real bears, C sent us this news story of a young cub breaking into the Lyons location of the Colorado Cherry Company, a well-known Front Range cherry pie business. The reporting itself is funny — with crime-scene pics — and highlights the bear's choice of blueberry pie in a sea of cherry options. The clues: "'An eaten pie on the ground with the paw prints, little blueberry paw prints on the glass,' said Bailey Sandahl, general manager of the Colorado Cherry Company location." We all have our favorites 🫐🍒🫐!

And finally, Stephen J. Dubner, host of the Freakonomics show Better in Person, has been asked repeatedly about the bear art appearing in the background of his home set. Dubner recently explained that he spotted the original oil painting by Aaron Harker at the Salt Lake City Delta Airlines Lounge; he was so taken by it that he now has his very own print copy of Honey Bear. For me: still NO to encountering a bear in the woods, but YES to eating bread and squeeze-bottle honey with this one here. It's the eyes!

"I feel like he's saying to his non-bear brethren, 'We can do it together.'"

🍯 🧈🍞 🧈🍯

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2._GOOD MUSIC: As we close out our Rocky Mountain post, who could be better to sing us back to regular lower-altitude life? Click play for John Denver and some vintage/hippie 1970s Colorado time travel. The dog part at the 2:30 mark is sweet, and I say let's bring back his classic concert close-out 💫✌️💫:

EXTRA EXTRA 🎶: Here's a fun analysis of Denver's legendary song, and if you'd like to strum like the man himself, click on this video guide to learn "Rocky Mountain High" on the guitar. Send me your demo!

⛰️🌲🏔️🌲⛰️

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SEE YOU HERE NEXT TIME FOR

ANOTHER BATCH OF GOOD

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