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Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, Part I

Posted on November 16, 2025 by Debora

In early October of 2024, we took the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad from Durango to Silverton and back. It’s a gorgeous ride and I would recommend it to anyone, especially in the fall.

We drove into Durango with plenty of time to spare, so we started off with a delicious breakfast at
Jean Pierre’s French Bakery.

Then we walked to the depot…

and checked out the D&SNG Museum.

They called for boarding around 9:30 am. We found our reserved seats and the train departed at 9:45, following the Animas River north. The views are soul-nourishing.

Since the line uses a steam locomotive, we replenished the water supply at an old tower along the way.

At about 1:10 pm, we rolled into Silverton for a two-hour layover.

Next up: Silverton and the return trip.

Categories: environment, Family, food, Life, Travel, trees, Weather | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Luke Visits Alaska, Part I

Posted on September 14, 2025 by Debora

I almost forgot to write about Luke’s trip to Alaska last year! I’ve probably forgotten a lot of the details, but let’s see what I can piece together.

He flew out from Denver International Airport on August 23, 2024. Delays caused him to miss his connecting flight, so the airline rescheduled him for the next flight. That takeoff was also delayed, due to technical issues.

The next morning he took a walk through downtown Anchorage.

I’m skipping all the messages where he’s complaining about freezing his ass off. Apparently 45º and overcast feels a lot colder in damp Alaska than in dry Colorado.

He drove his rented Jeep to the nearby Glen Alps/Flattop Trailhead, and hiked the overlook trail.

He spent the second night at Base Camp Anchorage Hostel. Then he dropped off the Jeep and boarded the Alaska Railroad for a scenic eight-hour journey to Denali.

He spent the night at a hostel in Denali. In the morning he took a shuttle into Denali National Park, and did some exploring in the wilderness.


This post is getting kind of long, and we’re only about halfway through, so I’ll pause it here. To be continued!

Categories: A Plethora of Parks, Animals, environment, Family, Life, Travel, Weather, Wildlife | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

DOT by Bike and Rail: Commerce City, Thornton and Northglenn

Posted on July 4, 2024 by Debora

Each loop that I’ve completed on this DOT project has been longer than the one before. I’d like to say that’s because I’m building up stamina and confidence, but actually it’s just that the light rail stations get farther apart as I follow the northernmost curve of the DOT. But also I’m building up stamina and confidence, so the longer distances are still fun. I did pack a lunch for Loop 4 though, because it’s really long and doesn’t pass close by any eateries.

I liked my little bike trunk for the DOT rides, but it wasn’t great for my daily work commute. I ended up replacing it with a plain wire basket big enough to hold my laptop bag, a Thermoflask or two, my lock chain, a light jacket and other accouterments of my workday. The aesthetic isn’t as sleek, but I love the convenience of being able to just toss stuff into the basket and go. I did start using a cargo net over it after my Lexlion tea bottle bounced out on a bump one morning on my way to work and shattered its lid. Little by little, I’m getting the setup all dialed in.

Alas, the Loop 4 ride didn’t run as smoothly as the first three. I waited at the 2nd & Abilene rail station, watching the ETA for the R line get pushed back, a few minutes at a time, over and over, for almost an hour. On my previous outings I had brought a book to read, “just in case,” but I’d never needed it. So of course I didn’t bring one this time, because why carry around extra weight for no reason? Yeah, a book would have been nice while I waited for the train to show up.

It finally did. I took the R to Peoria Station and then the A to Central Park Station. From there I followed the Sand Creek Regional Greenway to where it joined Segment 20 of the DOT, and continued north into Commerce City. The day was already heating up, and I felt a little grumpy about the train delay wasting an hour of cooler morning air.

This section follows Sand Creek through some very urban surroundings, but it’s not terrible.

I like how these underpass support pillars look like a house of mirrors:

It’s prettier from the outside:

I felt like I spent an unreasonably long amount of time pedaling past the Suncor oil refinery, that unrepentant polluter of our local air and water.

Place gives off Mordor vibes.

Eventually Sand Creek joined the South Platte River, against the scenic backdrop of a power plant smokestack. Good old Commerce City.

This dragon mural is almost too pretty to ride on.

As I continued north the trail got nicer. More greenery, more art.

I just realized that not a single photo from Segment 21 made the blog cut. Which is strange, because it’s a very pleasant ride up the Platte River Trail. Guess I was too busy enjoying it to take pics.

Segment 22 was my favorite on this loop, even though I was starting to get tired and was running low on water. I actually left the DOT where it crosses 128th Ave, turned left and rode to the Ziggi’s Coffee on the corner of 128th and Quebec St for a cold fruit-flavored green tea drink to refill my Thermoflask. And then — heresy! — instead of backtracking to where I’d left the DOT, I continued up Quebec St to intercept it where it curved around to the west. So now I technically won’t be able to say I’ve ridden the whole route unless I go back and cover that skipped half-mile of trail.

I stopped at Riverdale Park and stretched out on the grass under the shade of a big tree to rest and cool down. Thanks to the train delay and not having a book to read, my phone battery was getting low. I pulled out my power pack…and realized that the charging cable had somehow not made it from the staging area into my trail bag. So I spent the rest of the ride watching my phone slowly die and not being able to do anything about it. Fortune was not smiling upon me that day, gentle reader.

The trails up in north Thornton and Northglenn are really nice, though. I rode through a park with some random giant concrete animals…

…along the lovely, shady Heritage Trail…


…and past Lake Avery, before coming to the end of Segment 22. Here I left the DOT and rode south to the Eastlake & 124th station on the N line.

The nice thing about the light rail lines that connect to Union Station is that their stations have raised platforms so you can roll your bike or luggage right onto the train. On the R line you have to lug your bike up steep stairs to get it aboard, and it doesn’t have the fancy bike docks with the bungee cords to hold your bike so you can sit down.

There are a couple of big sculptures at the Eastlake and 124th station that I like a lot. “The Muses of Water…

…and Earth.”

I have found Colorado public art displays to be rather hit-and-miss, with, in my opinion, more misses than hits. You won’t hear me say a lot of nice things about Texas, but I will say their public art displays are exceptional. My aesthetic standards got spoiled there. It makes some of the odd abstract nonsense in Colorado seem unnecessary at best, and I’m speaking as someone who believes that the world should be full of good art.

But yeah, those Muse sculptures are very nice. Also saw some cool horse sculptures at the 48th & Brighton National Western Center Station.

Took the N line to Union Station, then transferred to the A and got off at the Peoria Station. Waited a few minutes for the R, but it was running late again, or still. Rather than wait, I decided to ride my bike home from there. By now my phone was dead, so I didn’t have gps to chart the shortest course for me, but I got home with no issues.

Still a very enjoyable ride, and a good opportunity to be the rubber ball.

More to come!

Categories: A Plethora of Parks, Animals, Artwork, DOT by Bike and Rail, environment, Horses, Life, trail rides, trees, Weather, Wildlife | 5 Comments

Eclipse, Part II

Posted on April 14, 2024 by Debora

Read Part I here

When I stepped out of my tent Monday morning, I did the same thing everyone else at the campground was doing: I peered anxiously at the sky. The forecast called for partly sunny in the morning, turning to overcast by late afternoon. If the cloud cover rolled in too soon, the eclipse would be hidden. My first look was promising: a few wispy clouds, otherwise blue skies, not much wind.

I don’t know what that blurry thing in the foreground is, but it photobombed an otherwise great pic. 🙁

My plan was to get on the road home as soon as the eclipse was over, to avoid getting stuck in traffic. So first thing that morning I broke camp and loaded up my car. I had to evict a bunch of harvestman spiders that had taken up residence in the nooks and crannies of my tent.

Then I walked up to Emerald Vista to see if it was filling up yet. I had the option of watching the eclipse from my campsite, but I liked the overlook setting better.

The viewing area was nowhere near full, but people had begun to trickle in: several couples, some long-haired hippies, a family with children, a biker group blasting iconic 1960s-era anthems of the open road. Again I felt like I’d just stepped out of a time machine, but this time the vibe was five or six decades back in time. It was pretty great.

I had a few hours to kill before the eclipse started, so when I noticed a trailhead leading down from the overlook, I decided to check it out. Alltrails said it was a ~7 mile out-and back. I didn’t want to hike the whole thing, just stretch my legs a little.

The trail was so pretty that I absolutely would have ended up hiking the whole thing if I weren’t afraid of missing the eclipse.

In my deepest heart, I am a forest creature.

I feel most alive in the woods. That soul-nourishing greenery, the birdsong, the earthy fragrance of soil and bark and blossom.

I love Colorado, and I’m learning to love the austere prairie beauty of the eastern plains. But it does my heart good to get back into the woods every now and then.

The Vista was full enough when I got back up to it that it seemed like a good time to claim a viewing spot. I went back to my campsite to grab my camp chair and a backpack full of whatever I thought I might need before and during the event. I set up in the ten feet of space between a family with kids on one side and the biker group on the other.

These particular bikers seemed like they were probably, like, doctors and accountants in their regular lives, rather than the disreputable hoodlum sort. But they fully understood the responsibility they had undertaken in providing the soundtrack for our eclipse experience. While we waited for the main event, they played “Born to be Wild,” and “There Ain’t no Good Chain Gang,” and made it all feel like a party. I asked one of them if I could take a photo of his Indian for my blog, and he readily agreed.

I had brought a book to read, but I got more enjoyment from listening to the conversations going on around me (“Mom, did you know there’s a state named George?”). The weather was perfect, and there were just enough clouds in the sky to provide a little thrill of uncertainty.

When the leading edge of the moon first became visible against the sun, the bikers changed over to an eclipse playlist: “Moonshadow,” “Moondance,” “Bad Moon Rising,” “Blinded by the Light,” and so on. The clouds mostly stayed out of the way, but when they did occasionally drift in front of the sun, it just created an eerie flowy effect that was very cool in its own way. The sun was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.*

I recently bought a cheap camera with a decent zoom. I wasn’t expecting much from it in capturing the eclipse, and it lived down to my low expectations.  This is about the clearest shot I got of the crescent sun:

When the eclipse first began, I realized that I had left my little tripod back at my campsite, and that I would need it if I was going to have any chance of getting a clear photo. But for once I didn’t really care about getting the perfect shot. I was very much in the moment, and I didn’t want to break the spell. I felt like I was part of something historic, like we’d all come together to create this unforgettable moment in time on the side of that mountain. I never seriously considered leaving for even just the few minutes it would have taken to grab my tripod.

So most of my pics look like this:

But I am fascinated by these jittery photos. Not because of the sun — because of the stars!

When I put on my eclipse glasses and looked at the crescent sun, I could not see the stars. But my cheap camera could, and it captured them clear and sharp in their colors and constellations.

Totality was incredible. Day became night, and the solar corona became a ring of fire around a black sun. I made one unsuccessful attempt to photograph it…

…then set aside my camera and just experienced it. The bikers broke out champagne.

Totality lasted a little over three minutes where we were. Then the light returned, and the birds resumed their songs, and the bikers played “Here Comes the Sun.”

I left Emerald Vista with a light heart. None of my problems are insurmountable. And hadn’t I just seen with my own eyes proof that the universe is spinning reliably along on its appointed course, in its proper timeline?

Instead of going back to the freeway, I turned the other way and stayed on the Talimena Scenic Byway.

I tuned my radio to a country station out of Fort Smith, Arkansas, and in between songs I listened to ads for local feed stores and wild horse auctions. I pulled out at every scenic overlook to take in the views…

…and on every one of them there were fellow travelers who had just experienced the same eclipse I had. It all imparted a warm sense of shared humanity that I haven’t felt in a very long time.

The drive home was nothing like the drive out. I avoided freeways for as long as I could, opting for a slower but more scenic route through cattle country and old historic small towns. One old town still had the original cobblestones on its main street. Another town had a giant billboard that said THOU SHALT NOT KILL in huge letters. I was wondering what sort of murduring problem that town had and how effective a billboard might be when I drove past one of the biggest damn cemeteries I’ve ever seen. So I guess the billboard wasn’t doing the trick.

In a little town in Oklahoma, near the Kansas border, I passed a Sheriff’s truck idling next to an intersection. I was feeling good about the fact that I wasn’t speeding when his flashers lit up my rear-view mirror. I pulled over, wondering what sort of small-town nefariousness I was about to be dealing with. He kept me waiting for a while, probably running my plates, and then eventually came up the the window. I rolled it down.

“Good evening,” he said in a friendly tone. “Did you know you have a taillight out?”

“I…did not know that.” I said.

“You can get out and look if you like.”

I got out and looked. I did in fact have a taillight out.

“Just get it fixed as soon as possible,” he said cheerfully. “Have a good night!”

I got back behind the wheel, trying to remember if I still had that box of taillight bulbs in my trunk. I thought I remembered taking it out and putting it in the garage the last time I’d cleaned out my car.

When I messaged Luke about the incident, he replied, “Pull over and check your trunk. See if the bulbs are still in there.”

“Meh. I’ll check when I get home.”

“What will you do if a Kansas cop pulls you over and tickets you?”

“Pay it, I reckon.”

“Sloth tax,” he grumbled. That’s my boy, I raised him to be responsible.

I had no more run-ins with the law. By now it was dark, so I didn’t have to look at that flat and desolate Kansas landscape. The winding farm roads led me back to I-70, and I drove uneventfully back into the dry chill of a Colorado April.

*With apologies to Alfred Noyes

Categories: A Plethora of Parks, environment, Life, Road trip, Travel, Weather | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Eclipse, Part I

Posted on April 11, 2024 by Debora

I’ve been having a rough few weeks. House stuff, horse stuff, family stuff, work stuff. Nothing insurmountable, taken individually, but collectively it all felt like the universe just woke up one day and chose violence.

In the middle of all that, I realized that I really wanted to see the solar eclipse. I started looking into reservations at hotels, motels and campgrounds in the path of totality, and of course there was nothing still available in my price range.

I came up with some plans and alternate plans. Elizabeth had booked a flight to Austin for the eclipse, and Luke couldn’t get the time off work, so it would just be me this time. My first solo road trip!

Plan A was a remote little campground in the southeast corner of Oklahoma, a little over 12 hours from home if I drove nonstop. No electricity, no water, no reservations, strictly first come first served. Inside the path of totality, but far enough from the center line to maybe not be in huge demand. I figured if I hit the road Friday night, I had a decent shot at snagging a campsite.

Luke, a seasoned veteran of the solo road trip, solicitously monitored my packing process as I loaded up the car after work. “Take a couple more blankets,” he advised.

“I’m driving to Oklahoma, not into a Wyoming blizzard,” I said. “It’s going to be in the 80s down there.” (I know, I was supposed to buy a real sleeping bag for this sort of thing. I will, I’ve just been busy with other stuff.)

“Take extra blankets anyway,” he urged. “You never know.”

I rolled my eyes, but grabbed another blanket. Then, on impulse, I grabbed our padded and waterproof picnic blanket in case the eclipse viewing spot was too crowded for my camp chair.

Getting out of the Denver area on any Friday can be problematic, as everyone drives up to the mountains for their weekend adventures. I was going in the opposite direction, but I didn’t know how eclipse travel might impact the roads. So I tried unsuccessfully to nap through the worst of the afternoon traffic, and then embarked around 10:30 pm. Got sleepy around 2:30am and pulled into a rest area to nap. It was nice having the whole back seat to myself. I slept soundly for about five hours, and got back on the road a little after 8am.

That drive was one of the most tedious slogs I have ever experienced. I was fighting heavy winds the whole way, and the landscape was flat and desolate. Whatever the opposite of “scenery” is, that’s what I was driving through. Got briefly trapped in Wichita Kansas, where a section of the interstate was closed for construction, my map app kept bringing me back to the same barricaded onramp, and I couldn’t find a way around via surface streets. Eventually a nice local couple directed me to a turnpike that got me back on my way. I bet that interstate closure generated a fortune in turnpike tolls for Kansas during the eclipse migration.

One stretch of road in northern Oklahoma had dust and topsoil blowing so thick off the cropfields that I had to slow down and turn my headlights on.

The last couple hundred miles of the trip finally started to get pretty. Lakes, rivers, grass, green trees. My campground was on Winding Stair Mountain in Ouachita National Forest (pronounced like Wichita, but Watchita).

Luck was with me–I snagged one of the last available campsites.

Setting up the tent by myself in that unrelenting wind was a chore. The wind kept trying to blow everything off the mountainside. I had to set it up with all the windows unzipped and open so the wind could blow through it rather than capsizing the walls. But once I got all four corners set and the guywires staked in, it was very stable. I know it’s long past time to upgrade to a better tent; our little SunDome was never meant for any conditions harsher than the occasional summer rain. But I’m always impressed by how well it handles situations it wasn’t really designed for. Nearly worthless against the cold, but an absolute champ in heavy winds.

Once I had the tent safely guarding my campsite, I walked up to Emerald Overlook, where I planned to watch the eclipse. It has lovely views of Ouachita National Forest.

It wasn’t cold that night, but I had to leave the tent windows open so the wind wouldn’t blow the tent down. I was thankful for that extra blanket Luke made me bring.

Sunday morning dawned sunny, warm and much less windy. I had the whole day free, so I drove down to the nearby town of Heavener and had a late breakfast/early lunch in an old railcar-turned-restaurant.

An active rail line runs through Heavener, and there’s a big trainyard just across the tracks from the Southern Belle.

The Canadian Pacific Kansas City Railroad is a big part of the local economy and culture here; you can see old train cars and railroad paraphernalia all over town.

One thing I noticed on my trip is that traveling solo put me in a completely different mindset than traveling with company. I tuned in more to the strangers around me: how they presented themselves, what they talked about. Of course, since Luke is all about road trips and seeing the country, I messaged him often with little tidbits about my journey. When I told him I was eating in a railcar, he asked what sort of people were there. (That’s not exactly what he asked. My son has opinions about culture in general and rural culture in particular, and not all of his comments are suitable for public consumption.) I said there were all kinds of people, and so far I hadn’t seen anyone in Oklahoma that fit the “lumbering hayseed with a dozen children in tow” image he was thinking of. (Although I think Dale Gribble came into the railcar while I was there.)

To illustrate my point, I asked the couple at the next table if I could photograph them. I said, “I won’t post it on the Internet or anything.” The woman smiled and said, “It’s okay if you do.” So here they are:

I sent the pic to Luke, and he said, “Huh,” and then made a joke about what Vinny and Mona Lisa are up to these days.

Meanwhile, a member of the middle-aged, salt-of-the-earth-aesthetic, midwestern-accented party at the table behind me was talking about something she had seen on reddit. It’s a brave new world we live in.

From the Southern Belle I went to Runestone Park, to see their famous viking relic.

There was some sort of eclipse-related event going on there; a guy near the entrance charged me $10 for a parking pass. It was worth it. The park is lovely and by now the day was really warming up. I felt like I’d skipped forward in time a few weeks. Like Heinlein’s Door Into Summer, I’d found a highway into late spring.

The Runestone itself has a little house built around it, with skylight windows and a glass pane protecting the stone from visitors. But some of the skylight windows are broken, and a bird had come in to sit on the stone. He was about the size and shape of a turkey vulture, but his head looked more like a seagull.

The runes are hard to photograph behind glass. Can you see them here?

The Runestone house seen from above.

On a whim I followed a trail that branched off from the Runestone loop. I thought it was a slightly larger loop that connected back to the trail above the little house. Instead it led me off into the wilderness.

I followed it for a while, because it was a pretty trail and a pretty day. But I hadn’t brought any water with me and the sweater I’d put on in the cool of the morning was too hot now. When a pirate-looking dude strode past me in the other direction, carrying lots of hiking gear, I started to wonder if I’d stumbled onto part of a larger through-hike. I kept going, but when I came to a crossroad (cross-trail?) I pulled out my phone and got onto the AllTrails website to see if I could find a trail map of the area.

I normally use AllTrails on my iPad or MacBook. When I opened it on my phone and tried to find the trail I was on, it refused to show me until I downloaded the app. I don’t usually let websites bully me into using their apps, but I was curious to see what the difference was.

As soon as I downloaded and opened the AllTrails app, a screen popped up with my blue location dot on the trail map. It confirmed that I was on the Runestone Park Nature Trail loop. Very cool.

I continued on…and my dot left the trail. I went back to the cross-trail and turned down the other path, and my dot followed the nature trail.

At this point pirate-looking dude reappeared, once again coming from the opposite direction. This time I asked him if he knew where the other trail went. He started telling me about small loops and big loops and parking areas and a scenic overlook, then he pulled a park trail map out of his backpack, handed to me and told me to keep it. I looked it over, but the rudimentary hand-drawn map just looked like squiggly circles to me. “The scenic overlook is on the big loop?” I asked. “The other way where the trails cross?”

“Yep, I’m headed that way myself.”

I thanked him, and he strode off again. I studied the map for a few more minutes, trying to get a sense of how much bigger the bigger loop was. I was hot and thirsty, but I am all about the scenic overlooks. I decided to go for it. I went back to the cross-trails and continued on the way I’d been going before.

Maybe ten or fifteen minutes later I emerged onto the parking area pirate dude had mentioned. There were food trucks and a bouncy castle and a playground. While I was looking around to see where the trail continued on to the scenic overlook, I realized that I was in the same parking area that I had parked in. I was standing maybe 300 feet from my own car.

I went over to it, chugged some water from my Thermoflask, grabbed a t-shirt and went into the gift shop restroom to change out of my hot sweater. Thus refreshed, I picked up the trail on the other side of the parking lot and continued on.

The trail followed the edge of a stone cliff overlooking a valley. It was a pretty trail with intermittently pretty views, depending on the density of the forest.

Near the end of the trail, I ran into pirate dude again, this time chilling in a hammock near the cliff. By now we were practically old friends, so I hung around for a while and we chatted about random stuff. He said he’d chosen that spot for his hammock because it gave him a nice view of the landing hang-gliders. Until he mentioned them, I had not noticed the gliders wheeling slowly above us in the sky.

He talked about all the different sorts of adventures to be had in the area: cave-diving, kayaking, fishing, hiking. His enthusiasm was contagious, and by the time we parted ways I had a new appreciation for this green little corner of Oklahoma.

I asked if I could take a picture of him for my blog, because apparently that’s a thing I do now. He agreed.

I said it was lovely talking to him and he said likewise, and I continued on to the end of the scenic overlook.

It felt like a day well spent, but I didn’t want to leave my tent unattended for too long. I wasn’t sure how determined latecomers might be to acquire a campsite. So I headed back to the campground, to defend my claim.

The wind picked back up in the evening, so I had to sleep with the tent windows open again. This time I used the picnic blanket as a “bottom sheet,” and added the blanket I’d slept on the night before to the pile I slept under. I was toasty warm all night, and would have slept in later if my phone hadn’t woken me up at 5:15 am. I had remembered to cancel the Monday morning alarm on my iPad, but forgotten to cancel the backup alarm on my phone.

Up next: Eclipse day!

Categories: A Plethora of Parks, Animals, environment, food, Life, Road trip, Travel, trees, Weather | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment

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