Author: Easin' Along

As Helen and I began the fourth month of our RV trip through the northwest, we arrived at Chatfield State Park near Denver, Colorado.  It was hot–real hot! Daytime temperatures hovered around 100 degrees and remained there for the duration of our visit to a very nice State Park. 

The deer that grazed outside Dora (our fifth-wheel) didn’t seem to mind, but we only ventured out in the mornings or near sunset.  We began a morning hike in a nearby canyon but only walked a mile before turning around toward the direction of our truck air conditioner. For the remainder of our visit, we chose early morning bike rides as our exercise of choice.

Despite the heat, we enjoyed our visit immensely.  My niece, Katy, and her husband, Matt, live near Chatfield State Park and hosted Helen and me for dinner one evening.  Katy is one of my sister, LeAnn’s, twin daughters. We had a grand time and repaid the favor by inviting them to join us for drinks and dinner in Dora.

We spent one afternoon in the charming mountain village of Idaho Springs, Colorado. This place was a beehive of activity with young people playing games in the streets, shopping, and enjoying themselves in sidewalk cafes. Helen and I walked the town and also took in Bridal Veil Falls in a park one block off the main thoroughfare. We ventured into one thrift shop where Helen bought something–can’t remember what it was.

We left the heat of Denver and drove next to Colorado Springs, hopeful that an increase in elevation might offer cooler weather. Peregrine Pines FamCamp on the grounds of the United States Air Force Academy would be home for the next four days. I last visited the Academy almost thirty years ago and looked forward to camping there.

We also looked forward to spending time with Nancy and Jim, residents of Colorado Springs.  Nancy is a friend from Knoxville and Helen’s big sister from her sorority days at the University of Tennessee. When we lived in Germany, Nancy lived in a small town very close by, and we traveled together when we were young and adventurous.  While in Germany, Nancy’s son, Tim, was born and now is the senior pastor of a Presbyterian church in downtown Colorado Springs.  Helen and I had not seen Tim since he was an infant and looked forward to attending services at his church.

First Presbyterian has a sizeable congregation, and Pastor Tim leads four services every Sunday.  We attended one of the contemporary services.  I regret not having a video to share because Pastor Tim is a gifted minister, and Helen and I felt moved by the message he delivered that morning. It was a highlight of the trip.

Nancy told us that the cog train to Pikes Peak reopened recently after some renovations and suggested that we join her, Jim, and two grandsons, Peter, and Liam, for a ride to the top. We readily accepted and met them at the terminal the next day at noon. A large crowd assembled in the terminal beside the cog train sitting on an incline, and Pikes Peak loomed large above us and an hour or so away (Photo at top of page).

Unfortunately, we encountered another weather situation this day.  The heat of previous days moved out, and heavy clouds moved in. Our views from the train and the summit were not perfect, but not blocked completely. At one point on the way up, we sat on a sidetrack so the train moving down the mountain could pass.  I put my camera to work and photographed a curious Marmot, as well as a panoramic view of the valley below us.

The summit of Pikes Peak is over 14,000 feet above sea level, and the air is a bit thin at that elevation. When we walked off the train and climbed the steps to the viewing platforms, I felt both light-headed and oxygen-starved. The light-headedness soon passed, but I continued to struggle with the steps.

We only had about an hour at the summit before the next train arrived to take us back down the mountain.  I’m grateful for the experience and the opportunity to enjoy time with friends in a unique setting. Peter nodded off during the ride down, but I know he enjoyed the trip. Before leaving Colorado Springs, we shared a toast with Nancy and Jim and thanked them for showing us such a good time. We promised to stay in touch.

With this post, we wrap up another fun stop on the road less traveled. We’re on our way to Dodge City, Kansas, and we hope you’ll join us on Boot Hill.  Until then, we’re Easin’ Along.

When we put our itinerary together months ago, our plan for Cheyenne, Wyoming, was to camp in the Crow Creek FamCamp on F.E. Warren Air Force Base. Although retirees can book a campsite no more than 30 days out, we were not overly concerned and felt we would secure a spot as soon as the booking window opened. It wasn’t that easy.

When we called to make a reservation, the lady on the other end of the line just laughed. “Sir,” she said, “obviously, you didn’t know that the dates you want are during Frontier Days, and we have no sites available.” She was right. I did not have any idea that Frontier Days are a big deal, but I’m so glad we had the opportunity to learn all about the event firsthand.

Frontier Days, the World’s Largest outdoor rodeo and Western Celebration, took place this year from July 23rd to August 1st–the 125th year of the event. On the week before we arrived in Cheyenne, Helen tried once more to call Crow Creek to see if the impossible had happened, and someone canceled. Indeed, someone had, and we moved into a spacious campsite for four days to celebrate all things western.

Crow Creek, filled with veterans from all over the country, and the campground was buzzing. One group from Alabama was recovering from a long night after the Garth Brooks concert the previous evening. Scheduled throughout the week, a slate of shows included a star-studded lineup and culminated the last day with Blake Shelton on the stage. There were no tickets left for Frontier Night shows, although scalpers offered tickets to Blake Shelton for as much as $3,000.

On our first day, we opted for two events held on the base. The first, a precision riding demonstration, took place on the parade field. The Trotters, a snappily dressed group of six cowgirls and one cowboy, put on a show for us. One lady would call out commands, and the Trotters would move in the direction called. The riders did not know in advance what order would come next, but all horses moved uniformly without a hitch and impressed everyone in the audience.

We attended another event put on by a group representing the Buffalo Soldiers, African-American Regiments formed after the Civil War and stationed primarily in the western part of the country. This event gave young kids an opportunity to sit on a horse and gave parents a photo op. We took advantage of neither chance but did learn much about the contribution of the Buffalo Soldier to our country as it advanced westward.

Back in the campground, we learned that tickets for the “Daddy of “Em All” Rodeo were available at the gate. Neither of us had ever been to a rodeo, and I jumped at the opportunity. A shuttle bus picked us up at the base entrance and took us about a mile to the Fairgrounds. The ticket lines were long but moved swiftly. Helen and I obtained seats in an upper deck. We were some distance away but had an unobstructed view of the action.

For the next two hours, we watched a heckuva show. The bull riders went first, and all I could think about was, “Why would anybody want to do that?” The bulls were enormous, and when they bucked, all four hooves left the ground. The rider had to last for seven seconds, and few did that.

After the bulls, the bareback bronc riders gave us an equally impressive show, perhaps only slightly less dangerous. Next came both men and women calf ropers, saddle bronc riders, and daredevil stunt riders. It was the fastest two hours I can remember, and I can say with confidence, I am now a rodeo fan thanks to the “Daddy of ‘Em All.”

Before we start Easin’ Along toward Colorado, I wanted to share a little about our stop in Dubois, Wyoming before arriving in Cheyenne. We camped in Dubois last summer and had a great time exploring the area. I inserted a link to that visit here. For this year’s visit, we decided to slow the pace a bit. Helen worked her puzzle beside the Wind River, and I read books. Each campsite in the Longhorn Ranch Campground came with at least four Prairie Dogs, so, between books, I fed the little critters peanuts. One fearless little fellow eventually worked up enough courage to take them out of my hand. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. See y’all next week.

Under clear skies, we departed Big Sky, Montana, and drove 60 miles to Ennis RV Village, our home for the week. During our stay in Big Sky, smoke from distant wildfires occasionally drifted overhead but never presented much of a problem. Eventually, the smoke found a resting place in Ennis.

This visit to Ennis RV Village was our second in two years. We enjoyed a delightful experience last summer and booked a return trip for 2021. Last summer, a storm in the valley gave me a great afternoon of fun with my camera (Link here). However, this summer, smoke replaced the rainbows of the year before. The pictures below illustrate the difference a year can make. (Slide arrows left or right to compare in larger view)

Although the smoke limited our view of the mountains, it offered an opportunity I hadn’t considered–very colorful sunsets. The setting sunlight, filtered through a layer of smoke, gave off a bright palette of colors more than once during our visit, and I captured some of them to share here.

In Ennis, Helen and I also looked forward to visiting with our friends Ann and Frank, Knoxvillians who have owned a summer home in the area for many years. Frank is a very experienced fly-fisherman, and I let him know that if he planned a fishing trip during our stay, I would love to tag along. Frank did much better than that.

On our way into town, I checked in with Frank to learn that he had just got off the phone with a friend who offered a rare opportunity. Frank’s friend had booked and paid for a guided day of fishing on Henry’s Fork of the Snake River but couldn’t make it. Not wanting the trip to waste away, he gave the trip to Frank, who invited me to join him. It took me only a fraction of a second to accept, and we made arrangements to meet early the following day.

We met around dawn for a drive to Island Park, Idaho, about 90 miles away. During our drive, I thought about how long it had been since I was active this early in the morning, but when we passed a large cattle drive, I realized that there are many early birds in this world–I’m just not one of them anymore. We also passed a large campground filled with firefighters already at work on the nearby wildfires, and I sent up a prayer for their safety and success.

Henry’s Fork is well-known as a haven for trophy trout, and I was so excited, I could hardly stand it. We checked into Henry’s Fork Anglers, a well-stocked gear shop, and met Shawn, our guide for the day. Shawn was a polite and professional twenty-something, with a handsome face reddened by wind and sun due to many hours on the Snake. He directed Frank and me to the snack shop to pick up enormous deli sandwiches for our lunch and waited for us at his car with a drift boat attached.

On the way to the launch site, Shawn told us that he had worked at Henry’s Fork Anglers every summer since he was fifteen and bitten by the fly-fishing bug. He began guiding at age eighteen. We also learned that he grew up in Knoxville and went to high school about 10 miles from my house…an unbelievable coincidence. Knoxvillian or not, this young man knew trout fishing.

Shawn expertly guided the drift boat to the rising trout, chasing insects hatching at the surface as we drifted the Snake River. He carefully explained the technical details of catching fish in these waters. On either side of the river, wading fishermen and women hauled in some nice Rainbow Trout.

It wasn’t long before Frank hooked a large trout and fought it for several minutes before escaping his hook. I also snagged a large fish, only to meet the same result. We repeated the experience many times during the trip and, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t land one in the boat. I admit to a bit of disappointment in losing some nice trout, but the overall experience was wrapped in nothing but joy for this old mountain boy. I am very grateful to Frank and his friend for sharing a delightful day on the water.

Shawn, you’re the best too! Here’s hoping we can do it again! For now, we’re Easin’ Along.