The altitude, hyper-alert driving, hiking and fresh air cause such exhaustion that by the end of my second week on the road, once I’ve sat down in my camping chair with a book in one hand and a cuppa in the other, I can’t recall the morning. I know I must have risen early and driven, though not far. The drive was pleasant; it had to be for I am in the southern part of Colorado and everything here is pleasant, including the amazing Mesa Verde National Park where my tent is currently pitched. I end up here because it is recommended by some Colorado locals I met on a hike; when I looked at the map I found that I was only a few finger lengths away so I had no excuse not to follow the good advice. I’ve very glad that I did.
Mesa Verde National Park is known for the Ancestral Puebloans who lived here about 700 years ago and left their dwellings, many of which are still safely standing under the rock alcoves where they were built.
On the first day, after I set up camp, I opt for a lovely hike on the Prater Ridge Trail which consists of two loops that stick to the edges of the mesa, offering stunning views of the park, its flat valleys, and the San Juan Mountains from whence I came earlier today. It’s also a flat walk, once you climb up to the Mesa, which is just what my body craves. Though I’m not in bad shape, the altitude in the mountains makes my heart pound whenever I climb; here I can breathe easy, though I admit, the absence of having my heart pound is a thrill I do miss. Clouds gather and I see lightning, but the mountains and winds keep it from coming here; the light against the dark background illuminates everything in gold.
You have to sign up for the hikes and talks to the Ancestral Puebloan dwellings, so the next morning I’m up early to make the first tour of Long House on the western side of the park. A few year back there was a fire atop the Mesa, and only blackened tree skeletons remain standing, their roots blanketed by tall, sun-dried grasses. It’s an eerie drive.
At Long House, my tour guide, Diana, weaves a magical tale of hard labour, family, love and community that makes the lives of the Ancestral Puebloan seem not much different from ours. At the end of our walk, our group stands around a kiva, imagining the sounds of a bustling community around us.
The other tours include Cliff Palace and Balcony House. At the start of the tour the ranger gives out warnings – you will climb, walk along steep cliff edges, and trudge on your knees through a hole that is as wide as a ranger hat and twice as tall. No one leaves when we reach the walk’s point of no return, but a few people do complain about the crawling as they try to fit their bodies through the narrow corridors in the houses. For me, climbing, crawling and standing at the edge are highlights of the trip that make Balcony House my favourite tour.
The park doesn’t have a lot of long trails, but the short ones are scenic, and will work your muscles and heart, especially on a steamy July mid-afternoon. The best hike is the 3.6km Petroglyph Point Trail that is full of stone steps, cliff edges, alcoves and incredible views.
On lazy afternoons I head into Mancos. The visitor centre is closed with a notice that it will reopen after Saturday’s parade (the town is preparing for a community celebration), but thankfully Mancos is a one Main Street town that is easy to navigate: the Main Street is just a block, as far as I can tell. Most shops are closed: closing time is a reasonable 4pm.
Manco’s Opera House windows have old photographs in them, and at the door is an invitation to enter. I do. In the main hall are two men talking shop, discussing the ceiling (now covered in plastic). I pick up an info sheet, and as I start wandering around I’m waved over to the chatting, and led into a small apartment behind the stage where Diane Keaton and other actors left their marks on the walls when they came to perform in 1966. I even get to examine the blueprints for what the new refurbished building will be like – the new owner wants to give the now forgotten Opera House a second life.
I spend the afternoon at Columbine Bar, waiting out a huge downpour. A plaque outside the bar informs me that this drinking establishment has been around since 1910 and that children were advised to walk on the other side of the street, rather than by it: feeling like a naughty child, I walk in through the nonchalant, blue door – it looks like an entrance into a home, not a bar. As my eyes adjust to the din, I see the bar at the far right corner and around it are what I assume the regulars, engaged in lively conversation. The barwoman talks fast and moves faster. I order a Dizzy Blind IPA, sit at the bar’s one remaining empty stool, wedged in between two local women. One came in for a break – she’s helping to register the softball teams for tomorrow’s celebrations. The other woman has lived in Mancos for 14 years, and gives me a list of reasons why she’s never going to leave. My beer, I realize, is high in alcoholic content, so I sip slowly, chat and listen to the conversations. It’s like being in an episode of “Cheers,” where everybody knows each others’ names. As people come in, the barwoman warmly welcomes them in, offering new bits of town gossip. I sip even slower. I love the road, and don’t mind travelling on my own, but being in this bar, surrounded by people is a lovely comfort on a stormy afternoon, and I do not wish it to end.
I do come back to Mancos for the festivities, though I miss the parade. In the common grounds a band plays, children make crafts, and many people enjoy a cold beverage. Everyone smiles and offers a cheerful hello. For $2 I get a Navajo fry-bread and it is one of the most amazing foods that I try on the trip thus far. The bread is huge, doughy and delicious; it is a simple food that engulfs me in comfort.
The other food whose memory will forever tickle my tastebuds is a pizza I had at the Dolores River Brewery in Dolores, Colorado – another afternoon excursion from Mesa Verde. I think the dough had a touch of nutmeg in it. It was light, fluffy, earthy and the best pizza I’ve ever had. The beer was excellent, too.
