Alamosa, Colorado is a neighborly little town a half-hour’s drive from the fifth-newest of our nation’s national parks, Great Sand Dunes, the best little waterless beach you ever saw. Jolene at the Best Western will give you a $125 room on the first floor if you kid around with her and rattle off a couple of good motel stories, the gas prices are cheap and they have a wide selection of brewpubs to dine in. There are no new restaurants any more, just brewpubs, which are supposed to be places where nonintoxicating beer or craft beer is brewed by a resident owner-brewer and at least a hefty percent of it is sold on-site in conjunction with significant food service. But we think some of these guys are fudging.
Buffalo Bill’s Brewery in Hayward, California, was the original brewpub, opening its doors in 1983. Nobody got too excited at first, but by the end of 2017 there were 2594 brewpubs in the United States. Five years later, there were 3418, so it’s obvious some of the kids broadened the definition to let more fun-lovers into the clubhouse. After briefly considering the Purple Pig pizza house, Siobhan and I went to the largest brewplace in Alamosa, the San Luis Valley Brewing Company in the heart of downtown. It was properly loud and crowded, as you might expect a brewpub to be. Kyle promptly came over to take our order.
“Kyle is wearing too much eye makeup,” said Siobhan, a makeup minimalist. “I think he’s an actor in his spare time,” I told her, noting he had company in the makeup department. Several of the other male waiters were carrying also. “Either that or it’s one of those spooky towns where everyone turns into a transvestite vampire at midnight.” I’ve seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show six times so nobody is fooling me.
Kyle came back and told us he thought Alamosa was ready for its first karaoke bar and he was the man to open it, having vast experience working in such places. “The people in Colorado will do anything if they drink enough,” he promised. “We’re ready to move past the brewpubs into light entertainment.” We told him his first sentence might be a good motto for the place with just a bit of editing. “If you like,” I told him, “we could go up there right now and sing ‘Happy Trails’ to test the waters.” Not ready just yet, he smiled nervously, darting off. I looked at Siobhan, a little miffed. “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but it seems to me it’s getting harder to break into show business all the time.”
Dune
You can see them from a long way off and they’re tall enough but not high as the moon, as you’d hoped. But what are they doing in this remote patch of Colorado, how did they get here and when will someone bring the water?
Much of the sand in Great Sand Dunes National Park is not actually native sand from the Sangre de Cristo Mountains that surround the dunes, but rather from the San Juan Mountains across the valley. Those mountains eroded slowly over time, with the resulting sediment accumulating in the San Luis Valley near a large body of water called Lake Alamosa, which covered much of the valley floor. Sediment built up on the lakebed for a very long time. Eventually, the lake broke free of the valley and drained out, forming the Rio Grande. Some smaller lakes remained, where sediment buildup continued. As the area became drier, the small lakes slowly dried up and all the sediment was exposed to the wind, which was predominately from the southwest. The wind blew the newly exposed sand deposits toward the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and other wind currents near the mountains squeezed the sand into a large, thirty square mile pile of sand, forming the dunes we see today.
A well-made film at the park’s visitor center describes the entire process. You can oil up with sunscreen while you watch, then head for the dunes. It’s about a 2 hour and 2.5 mile round trip in the blazing sun and burning sand to reach the top of High Dune and return, which might be a fine idea at 7 a.m. but not so much the rest of the day. Siobhan did not say no, but put on her best frowny face, so we passed. At least someone in this family has good sense.
On the way out of the park, we decided to check out Zapata Falls near the top of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. After an interminable winding drive to the crammed parking lot, we took a look at the trailhead which prefaced a 6.4 mile out-and-back challenging trail almost fully exposed to the sun in 90-degree temperatures. We passed on that one, too. “We must be getting old,” I told Siobhan, remembering severe challenges of the past we took up and met. “I don’t want any 82-year-old geezers dying on my watch,” she said. “What will I tell Gina and Sharon and Thacker?” I thought she might tell them I died valiantly with my hiking boots on, but then I thought better of it. If you’re going to pass away hiking, where better to do it than in Colorado Springs’ brilliant Garden of the Gods, where they just sprinkle kerosene on the remains and light up? It’s not exactly a Viking funeral but it’s the closest thing we got.
Pueblo
“Ain’t no cloudy skies in Pueblo, Colorado…only sunshine pourin’ down across the plain.”---Mark Dvorak
He’s not kidding. By the time we got to our lunch stop there, it was 104 degrees on the riverfront and nobody was playing pickleball. Brues Alehouse Brewing Company sat first and foremost on the water, so we traipsed in. “Inside or outside table?” asked the hostess. After we all stopped laughing, she led us to a small table on the perimeter of the room in a building which was once a police station/jail. “I’m going to ask about the bread and water,” I told Siobhan. “I hear it’s excellent at these kinds of places.”
You’ll be glad to know our waiter was not wearing any rouge or mascara, though he leaned just north of the fey line. He made a very flirty comment toward Siobhan, though, who looked particularly outstanding that afternoon. She barely noticed. “What’s your feeling about karaoke,” I asked. “In or out? I thought I’d sing a few bars of ‘My Old Kentucky Home’ for the customers.” Young waiter ran terrified into the kitchen, eyes opened wide. That’s what you get for messing with another man’s wife, bro.
In The Garden Of The Gods
In 1879, Charles Elliot Perkins, an eastern railroad baron, purchased 240 acres of land near Colorado Springs in a place called Garden of the Gods with the intention of building a summer home there for his family. Perkins eventually added even more acreage to his holdings but never got around to building the house, though he did keep the land open so the public could visit and enjoy the unique geological formations of the area.
Near the end of his life, Perkins decided to turn his now 480 acres into a park, but died in 1907 before implementing his plans. Two years later, his children acceded to their father’s wishes and deeded the property to the City of Colorado Springs on the condition that the land forever be maintained as a park open to the public free of charge, that no “intoxicating liquors “ could be manufactured or served there and that no buildings could be erected except those necessary to maintaining the public park. More than a century later, the 2.09 square mile Garden of the Gods remains a unique free wonderland visited annually by almost 4.5 million people, pretty impressive when you consider that about 3.5 million customers visit the 3468 square miles of Yellowstone National Park each year.
What’s It All About, Mr. Science?
In the Pleistocene Era, which is back even before the days when the St. Louis Browns played baseball in the American League, erosion and glaciation of the rock in Garden of the Gods created the present rock formations. The ancient sea remains of mountain ranges, alluvial fans, sandy beaches and sand dune fields can all be found in the rock. The outstanding geological features of the current park are the highly visible sedimentary rock formations, which were created as ancient mountains eroded and were buried in their own sediments. Massive sand dunes moved across the land and shallow seas and deeper oceans encroached and retreated.
Each environment left behind gravel, sand and ocean deposits that formed horizontal layers over millions of years. The multiple formations were then uplifted and slowly brought to the surface by a series of mountain-building events. The resulting rocks are stood-up, pushed around and slanted. Balanced Rock at the south end of the park was formed as erosive processes removed the softer layers near its base, eventually leaving the precarious looking outcrop seen today.
In August of 1859, two surveyors started out from Denver City to begin a townsite soon to be named Colorado City. While exploring nearby locations, they came upon the miracle of sandstone formations that became the present park. Surveyor M.S. Beach kiddingly suggested that the site would be “a capital place for a biergarten.” His companion, Rufus Cable, a young and poetic soul, exclaimed, Biergarten!?! Why it is a fit place for the Gods to assemble! We will call it Garden of the Gods.” And so they did. And so it is. Good job, Rufus. Nobody needs another Colorado brewpub.
Walking The Garden
If you’re visiting a 2.09 square mile park visited by 4.5 million people a year, better show up early. We got to Garden of the Gods around 9 a.m. and it was busy but not ridiculous. The walkways are broader by far than most trails and easy to navigate. Kids are plentiful and occasionally you’ll have to wait a minute or two to get the photo you want, but it’s not a struggle. That said, I wouldn’t show up around noon on a bet. By the time we hit the exceptional visitor center around 11, the area was teeming with humanity.
Most of the walking is on the flat but there are opportunities to clamber up scenic rockpiles for photos. There are also areas for licensed technical climbers to get their rocks on---the park has climbing apparatus hanging from several cliffsides, and it’s usually available. For those unable or disinclined to walk, a roadway called Juniper Way Loop runs though the Garden and several pullover spots are available. GG also offers Segway tours and horseback riding.
Once you’re finished with the big rocks, busy little Old Colorado City is worth a visit. Art galleries, funky gift shops, tattoo parlors, endless eateries and taverns in 19th century brick buildings dot the terrain along Colorado Avenue. The Old Colorado History Center Museum has exhibits on the early pioneer settlement and if you like you can even watch the puppet show at Simpich Showcase. We didn’t. Nothing against Punch and Judy, though.
Meatloaf!
When we arrived at our Hampton Inn digs near the Denver airport, we were thrilled to discover the Moonlight Diner a few feet from our doorway. Nostalgic for meatloaf or liver and onions cooked like grandma used to do it, we ambled over for dinner. Despite the clever motif and a lively crowd of diners, it was a dreary 90 minutes. First, the kitchen help resembled a hippie quartet on Quaaludes, so fast was their delivery of the slightest request. Second, and this is a recurring and sad phenomenon at imitation diners everywhere, the meatloaf did not have one whit of tomato sauce on it. And finally, the choice of pies was limited to---can you believe it---ONE! This is a crime worthy of horsewhipping, or at least the forfeiture of one’s diner license. They might have salved the wounds just a bit if they had an old-fashioned waitress like Flo, who patted you on the head when the kitchen staff made a mistake or Maizie from Wolfie’s, who always gave you extra pickles, but no, all we got was a teenaged goofball named Adriana with a Taylor Swift tattoo and a bad attitude. I got the apple pie anyway.
The nonstop home was quick and uneventful, just the way we like it. Nobody destroyed our new bag and Siobhan’s bored BMW started right up in the parking lot. The house was still standing when we arrived home, all the animals were alive and Gary Byrne remembered to mow the horse paddocks. All things considered, another worthwhile expedition into nature. Thanks to Sharon for house and pet care and to Julie and Laura for keeping Siobhan’s business from running off the tracks. We’re already thinking about next year when Bill will be 83 and all those hills will be higher. Maybe it’s finally time to visit the flatlands of Kansas.
Nah…not yet.
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| The Sun shines on Pike's Peak. |
That’s all, folks….
