Day 4: Moab to Denver, CO 6 hours?

We left Moab early, and it was already hot out there. Made our way through the last of the red cliffs and giant stone walls, just as beautiful today as they were last night.

Colorado appeared an hour later. We hoped Colorado was more colorful than its boring welcome sign!




The dry, barren landscape turned greener with each mile further into Colorado, until we finally felt like we’d really left Utah behind. Gone were the towering, jagged cliffs, which had fascinated us the whole ride out to Moab, replaced by trees and green pastures.

We found a new traveling companion--the Colorado River. We crossed it leaving Moab, and picked it up again somewhere near Palisade, Colorado. It was brown and calm in some places (very few places) but mostly, it was brown and white, running fast, rough rapids crashing through the middle of the river.

By 11 a.m., we were deep into Colorado. I expected to see the hilly terrain and mountains, but I was also surprised to see vineyards. Edra and I were delighted to see the vines meant exactly what we hoped they did--wineries!

Turns out Colorado has a whole wine region, with a healthy number of wineries in the area. We pulled into the first one we saw, and even at 11 a.m., the tasting room was full (side note: most of the oenophiles arrived on bike, and were pedaling to the wineries. How awesome is that!).

Mark parked himself and his iTouch in a chair, and Edra and I bellied up to the...err, tasting area. We sampled a few wines, purchased a bottle, and with a happy buzz, followed some signs to the town’s farmer’s market.

It was sunny and hot outside (I thought we’d left the desert behind us), but it didn’t slow us down. We joined the locals perusing the fruit stands and craft booths. The produce was big and colorful, and the Rainier cherries were incredible! (They were also sold out everywhere).

The vendor who surprised me most was not selling fruit—she was selling Mexican bread! In the middle of Colorado! (I can’t even find good pan dulce in my neighborhood, and there it was, readily available in the Rocky Mountains!)

We made a friend at the fruit stand.

I explored the town a bit more, enjoying the architecture. I also enjoyed this funny site:




That’s right, a drive-through liquor store! In Colorado, you don’t even have to get out of the car to buy booze!

Lunch was at a lovely little rest stop with covered picnic tables and grass, lots of it (Colorado had the best and prettiest rest areas during our trip). It even had a playground, though Mark was too hot to play.

We met up with our friend, the river, again after lunch. It ran directly next to us—the road was level with the river. After a few hours racing beside it, curiosity got the best of us, and we had to see it up close. We stopped at another rest stop, and walked to the water’s edge. Although there were only small rapids there, the river was moving fast. It passed by with alarming speed.

“I wish we could put our feet in it,” Edra said. It was smokin’ hot outside--I wanted to put my whole body in it!

Our next rest stop was not only pretty, it was teeming with wildlife. Well, OK, one wild life, anyway. As Mark and I stretched our legs, we heard squealing and saw a family pointing at the grass. We hurried over and saw a bright green snake slither into the grass. So cool!

Ambling back to the car, we found a little wading pool, fed from the mighty river itself. We rushed back to tell Edra, so she could dunk her feet in.

Edra, however, declined--she didn’t like the slimy (and slippery) ground leading into the pool. But I couldn’t pass it up. I waded in carefully. I know the river is melted snow from the Rockies, so I anticipated cold water. But to say it was cold doesn’t do this water justice--I felt like I waded into someone’s ice chest! My feet were seriously numb after about two minutes in there!



Our next stop was Vail, a sleepy little ski town nestled in to the mountains. It was a ritzy, shi-shi ski town, where the shops and lodges looked pricey. We don’t ski or shop anything but sales, so we went down to the river instead. Mark finally got to do his favorite thing ever--throw rocks into the water.

Only, it looked like a thousand young boys with the same idea had beat him to it--there were no rocks anywhere near the river. Mark improvised and threw sticks instead.

Edra and Mark tested the water here, which was as numbingly cold as it was at the rest stop. But it was gorgeous, and mesmerizing, and we couldn't tear ourselves away. Mark experimented throwing in different-sized sticks, pine cones, anything he could find, to see how far and fast the river took it away.




Our final destination of the day, Denver, was a couple hours away, so it was back on the road. Unfortunately, it was my shift at the wheel, which meant I got to navigate the long, steep, curvy drive through the Rocky Mountains.

I wasn’t worried at first. I passed a deer crossing sign, and didn’t think much of it, until a moment later, Edra called out, “Deer!” She pointed to the road side, where a giant deer was eating. So now, in addition to windy roads, barreling trucks, and speedy, impatient locals breathing down on me, I worried about dodging deer on the highway.

The sharp curves and steep hills freaked me out, and I wanted to ride the brake the whole time. A couple things stopped me—I did not see anyone else’s brake lights, but I did see signs that said, “If you lost your brakes, do not exit here—stay on the highway” and “Runaway truck ramp.” Those freaked me out—it meant people actually did burn out their brakes. So instead, every time I wanted to brake, I downshifted instead. I managed to get through the Rockies safely, but I was a nervous wreck afterwards.

Denver was teeming with people, more than we'd seen in the past three days combined. Most were strolling to a concert in the park; we strolled to dinner instead. The hotel concierge pointed us to what he called an outdoor mall, but was really one long street mobbed with people. There were horse-drawn cabs and pedi-cabs, and in the middle of the road were tables, chairs and colorful pianos (yes, you read that right, pianos!). There were sketch artists drawing caricatures of people, and bikers narrowly avoiding the people spilling in to the street.

Oh, and did I mention there was a convention in town?




Yep, the guys with the funny little hats. We sat near a group of them drinking really big beers.

Finally, at 9 p.m., was the highlight of Mark’s day--swim time. The hotel pool was open until midnight, and I joked I was the only bad parent letting my son swim so late. Turns out I wasn't the only bad parent though, as other families slowly trickled in.

Mark moved toward the hot tub, until he saw a young girl and her dad also head for it.

“And now I’m not going in,” he said, falling back into the pool.

“Why not?” I asked. “Because she’s a girl?”

He nodded.

“What if she was a boy?” I asked.

“Then I wouldn’t care,” Mark said. “I’d go in.”

And so we ended our night with a nice reminder that Mark is still a little boy. A little boy who loves to swim, does not like girls, and who, so far, has been a trooper on this road trip.