Holy Shi...!

 Every time I travel it, it grabs me. Not for the hair raising turns and steep drop-offs, though they have a decided effect. No, it’s for the multicolored rock cliffs, the rushing stream, all the history that is Big Thompson Canyon between Loveland and Estes Park, Colorado. It makes me wish for that magic roof-mounted video camera, able to catch every second of the journey the way my mind’s eye does, a little different every time I drive it.

Because I drive it. Every time. Only the corners of my eyes and mind lift themselves off the wily pavement to catch glimpses of what surrounds me. Never a camera in hand. Just memories piling on memories replacing last minute’s memories until it becomes a blur of wonderment, never quite recaptured.

It’s way more than a route to Rocky Mountain National Park. More than a picturesque spot lined with cabins and pull-offs dotted with fishermen. It’s the course of a deadly flood when a natural wall broke up in the park back in ’82, suddenly releasing the lake which had pushed a against it for centuries. It’s the hopes of all who rebuilt along its edges. It’s the monument commemorating the spot where two law officers failed to outrace the waters with sirens going with their warnings, instead caught up in the flood themselves.

It’s pure beauty. Pure wildness. Pure awe.

At its base is a long time tradition called “The Dam Store”, aka “The best store by a dam site.” We try to stop there every time we visit, occasionally buying something, sometimes stopped by road construction repairs upstream after the most recent flood, store still open and proprietors happy to chat. We stopped there yesterday.

While I was in the parking lot walking the dog, a pair of women bicyclists had stopped, chatting  near the port-a -potties, waiting for their third to reach them. They’d just ridden down. She came riding in, flying emotionally if not literally. “HOLY SHIT!” That canyon was just…” Then she spied me, caught herself short, and apologized for her language before joining her compatriots and sharing their experiences.

I wanted to tell her I wasn’t offended. I heard that expression before. I use it myself on occasion. No apology was necessary. But anything I could say would just have intruded on their moment, one well earned and deserving of holding for themselves. I just smiled to myself and walked on. I’d already had enough of their attention. And I completely agree.

HOLY SHIT! THAT CANYON IS AMAZING!