Monday, October 31, 2011

Southern Colorado Spectacular

by Tracey Flower

There is so much I want to share with you, my lovely readers, about a five-day road trip through Southwestern Colorado with four fantastic friends I took a couple weeks ago. And, over time, I'm sure I'll write it all. In the meantime, here's a few of my favorite shots. While it was a great time with good friends, the sights alone could have made the trip.

Below: Fairplay/Historic South Park City, Downtown Salida, San Luis Valley at sunset, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Hesperus Mountain (sacred to the Navajo)




Saturday, October 29, 2011

DemoCATS, Peace Signs and UFOs

by Tracey Flower


We had just passed through Fairplay and were making our way through the windy mountain roads leading to Alamosa and the San Luis Valley when my friend Dave, who had been immersed in a Colorado atlas for a spell, said, “we should turn left up ahead and check out Guffey.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the mayor is a cat.”

It was a good enough reason for the rest of us.

We didn’t regret the decision. The photos alone were worth the stop.

Greetings from Guffey, CO

Guffey was just one of the many mountain towns we (myself and four fantastic friends) toured on a five-day road trip throughout Southwestern Colorado a couple weeks ago. Guffey was the only one (to our knowledge) to boast a feline government official (for real, guys, check it out) but many of those tucked away communities had a similar look and feel; that of being ancient and un-touched, fossilized in the rock of the mountains that surround and protect them from progress and modernization, and I mean that in the best possible way. They’re charming and historical, and each one left us marveling (and, on occasion, in stitches giggling) at the quirks that make each of these towns oh so unique, and curious about the folks who call them home. 

We stumbled on one of these little towns and ended up camping there for a couple nights. Crestone, CO. Ever heard of it? Neither had we. 

Dave spied it on his trusty atlas while searching for a campsite near the Great Sand Dunes National Park. It’s in the San Luis Valley, which lies between the Sangre de Christo and San Juan mountain ranges.

Crestone sort of appears out of nowhere. The San Luis Valley covers nearly 8,000 square miles, and is therefore the most expansive stretch of flat land in that part of Colorado, and, after living in the Vail Valley where everything is straight up up up (or down down down depending on the sport), the most flat land any of us had seen in awhile. We drove and drove along those never-ending roads, past agricultural fields, signs for Colorado Gators Reptile Park and the 10 foot tall UFO look-out stand (because, you know, you can spy those things SO much better from 10 feet off the ground). We were starting to doubt Dave’s navigation skills, and the existence of Crestone altogether, when we took a turn and suddenly, nestled at the foot of the Sangre de Christos was Crestone, Colorado.

Crestone is a statutory town in Saguache County in Southwestern Colorado, United States. The population was 73 at the 2000 census. It is a small village at the foot of the western slope of the Sangre de Cristo Range, in the northern part of the San Luis Valley. Crestone was a small mining town, but little paying ore was discovered. In the 1970s, a large land development, the Baca Grande, was established to the south and west and several hundred homes have been built.
The Crestone area, which includes the Baca Grande and Moffat, Colorado, is a spiritual and new age center with several world religions represented, including: a Hindu temple, a Zen center, a co-ed Carmelite monastery, several Tibetan centers, and miscellaneous New Age happenings.
As we drove through the town, making our way to the National Forest Service campground which lies about ¾ of a mile north of the town center (and is lush, private and tidy), my friend Claire noted to her husband Marshall that a pedestrian had just given her the finger. Marshall corrected her, “I think that was a peace sign.”

Indeed it was.

Crestone has an uncanny wacky old hippie vibe. Unlike some of the other small mountain towns we happened upon on our journey it felt purposely hidden, as if only those who really want and need it will find it.

On our second day there, Dave fell into a conversation with a man wearing a tie-dyed shirt with wild white hair and a beard to match who told him the first time he came to Crestone he had a spiritual experience and, as a result, decided to never leave. He didn’t elaborate on the details of that experience, but did add that if we ever found ourselves back in that obscure little town, we, too, would stay forever.

Now, I don’t believe crystals hold any magical power, nor do I understand the how’s and why’s behind New Agey-mysticism. But there was a definite palpable feeling of spirituality in that place, of the presence of something BIGGER, of God, in the vast beauty surrounding that place, in the majesty of the Sangre de Christos looking down on it. It was a feeling that touched each of us and permeated the trip, creating a definite communal vibe among us that lasted for the duration of our holiday, and held on even after we returned home to Vail.

It was the most refreshing, cleansing and unifying trip I’ve been a part of in a long time. Was that solely the influence of Crestone? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was just us; five friends who count one another as family coming together on the eve of a big change (another story for another time, my friends), determined to savor a few precious, fleeting moments, and take in the views along the way.


This post is dedicated to my friend Dave.