Dancing in the lowlands, hiking in the highlands

We returned to the lovely little town of Fruita, Colorado, and enjoyed it quite as much as previously.  Although the area is heavily populated - Grand Junction, Palisade and others - Fruita manages to maintain a small town atmosphere.  The region is popular for mountain biking; even the dinosaurs do it, as is obvious by the photo below.

 

We were fortunate that someone at our RV park mentioned the Thursday night concert in the park.  We dined near there and walked several blocks to the park through a historic neighborhood, and then the fun began.

Awesome that we were there for a band called Stray Grass, one of the finer bluegrass groups we've enjoyed.  They entertained the huge crowd (we estimated 800 or so!) for a couple of hours, irresistible for dancers of every ilk.

 

The vast valley where we found ourselves is flanked on three sides by tremendous ranges, each of them completely different than the others.  The nearest to Fruita is the Colorado National Monument.  We've ventured there before, but continue to be enamored of the tortured rocky terrain.  A winding road that teeters on cliff edges and tunnels through massive rock walls took us up top whence we could view great vistas across to the Book Cliffs on one side and Grand Mesa on another.  The three gigantic uplifts are backdrops for everything in the valley.

We hiked miles to photograph this bighorn up close - just kidding, he crossed the road right in front of us and I snapped the shot as he hurried past us. . .

. . . to join others of his tribe.

Although the sheep virtually came to us, we did get in a good bit of trooping distances along the mesa top, far too much really considering the heat wave in which we found ourselves.  We had escaped from temps up to 108 down below, but it was plenty warm on the plateau, to put it mildly.  The stupendous views helped to distract us.  

I love walking in that kind of slick rock country.

Celebrating the land and independence . . .

A fellow in those parts, John Otto, labored long and hard to have the plateau region recognized and protected.  Today we have that magnificent landscape to enjoy primarily through his efforts.  Evidently Otto was quite the unique individual: he was so much a part of the land that his recently wed wife left him, complaining that he couldn't so much as reside in a cabin, preferring an even more primitive way of life.  In 1911,  he climbed Independence Mountain - 450 feet of sheer rock - to plant an American flag on the 4th of July, a feat that is still repeated each year.  It is visible on the right side of the mountaintop in the next photo.

Serpents Trail . . .

Once touted as the world's crookedest road, Serpents Trail has not had vehicles on it for quite some time, but is now a popular hiking route with numerous switchbacks along its length.  I understand its attraction for trekking, but I would not have wanted to drive a car down that precipitous way.  As the first motorized route through the Colorado National Monument in the early 1920s, the steep climb was difficult in vehicles that in those days had no fuel pumps.  In order to keep fuel flowing to the engine, cars were required to back all the way up that torturous road.  

That reminds me of stories I've heard about my Texas family and their visiting kin coming out to Arizona and needing to back up mountain grades for the same reason, sometimes to the wails of the female contingent who had never experienced mountainous terrain.

While exploring the Monument on foot, we spotted a juniper titmouse flitting in - appropriately enough -  junipers; it was the first of its kind on the trip.

Palisade, fruit, wine . . .

Returning to the lowlands after overheating ourselves on sun-scalded rocky terrain, we did some exploration in the Palisade area, a region teeming with orchards and vineyards.  We visited the Carlson Vineyard for a bit of wine tasting in their shaded grassy back yard. . .

. . . stopped by the Mosher-Talley orchard just in time to purchase apricots fresh off the trees.  We had a nice chat with the orchardist about the difficulties of growing that luscious fruit.  Our trees in Chino Valley seldom produced because they bloomed early and were usually nipped by frost.  To save his fruit on frosty nights, he lights fires under them.  

I can't remember the last time I had apricots right off the tree.  Our timing was perfect for that; he had just picked his last two lugs of the season that morning.  With peaches, we were not as fortunate, although we did get some to savor fresh.  I had hoped to get some to put up, but we were a bit late for the early freestones and a bit early for the late freestones . . .

. . . so we drowned our sorrows by sharing a baby peach pie at Annie's Pantry.

The lush green of the fruit production area around Palisade is backdropped by the stark beauty of the Book Cliffs.

Back at Fruita, we were right on time for the farmers'/crafters' market with its unique offerings and friendly folks.

I felt sorry for the poor musician who was stuck off the grass on hot pavement, not sure why that would be.

A grand mesa . . .

Grand Mesa's 10,000-foot elevation sounded better and better as the thermometer climbed higher and higher.  Before we attained the desired cool air, I required a stop to photograph a forlorn-feeling deserted homestead constructed variously of adobe, wood and rock, dwarfed by the massive rock face under which it was tucked.

And then . . . 

. . . we arrived - cool at last!  A high of 75 degrees sounded just dandy as we drove and admired flower-carpeted meadows and dozens of picturesque lakes and ponds.

And an accident . . .

The day took a nose dive, rather literally, when we arrived at an accident site with a woman laid out on the road pavement.  I assumed she had been hit by a car, but soon discovered that she had face-planted herself right over the handlebars of her bicycle . . . and she hadn't been wearing a helmet.  Whilst emergency help was on its way, we assisted as best we could, shading her with umbrellas and reassuring her partner (they had wed a mere three weeks prior).  

Eventually, an ambulance arrived to transport the injured woman to the hospital, and we transported her wife and their two e-bikes to their campsite where she could retrieve her car and follow to the hospital.  The injuries were severe, but treatable, we were informed later - many stitches for serious head and face lacerations, broken nose, sprained ankle and wrist, and concussion.  I considered her fortunate not to have incurred permanent brain damage or worse.  A helmet would have made it an entirely different story.

By the time all that was said and done, we were ready to begin our downward journey, stopping at times to be look outward toward the world laid out below us.

We ate a late picnic lunch at a place called Land's End Observatory, although all it observes is the many miles of lowlands.  There are two hungry denizens of that spot: noisy Clark's Nutcrackers that I enjoyed photographing . . .

. . . and chipmunks that have been transformed into aggressive greedy little monsters after generations of being given endless handouts.  I had absolutely no intention of photographing the rodents, but somehow, I couldn't help myself.  They were eating out of people's hands and (yes, it's true - mouths), and I was afraid they were going to attack me, truthfully, so maybe I held the camera out in self defense, but this is the result.

After escaping the ravenous hordes, I discovered that, to my dismay, the señor wanted to descend from the heights via the back road, not that I thought the main road was all that great, but his chosen one looked as if we were dropping off the end of the world.  I held on for dear life, whimpering a bit, and away we went.

Cooling off again, a Swiss family . . .

I don't think I've ever been as happy about a swimming pool as I was about the one at our Fruita RV park, although when I saw the posted limit - 10 people - I had to laugh.  No matter: it was sufficient to help us beat the heat each day when we returned to the Wolf Pup oven-like interior.  (As an aside which I expect no one to believe, however, it is true: I leave my crocs at the trailer steps so I can slip them on as I step out and avoid wearing shoes in the trailer.  The first day we came "home", I was unable to slip on my Crocs and will never again be able to wear them: it was so hot that they shrank and shriveled!).

Back to the pool - there we met a most interesting family of Swiss folks.  They had been to the U.S. previously and were appalled at how costs had risen.  On an earlier trip, they had rented an RV here to do their touring; however, the price had risen so dramatically that it was actually far more affordable for them to ship their own RV van from Europe.  He was adamant that he had taken all costs into account and it still cost him a third of what it would have to rent one in the U.S.