Colorado, here we come!

Now we're talking! The GPS takes us on a small country highway, winding through stunning mesas studded with red rocks and scrub brush, windmill farms and more oil fields, past grazing cattle. I am amazed that there is anything for them to eat in this drought-scarred land.

Temperatures are not as high as we proceed west-registering a comfortable 79 degrees at 9 a.m.

Midmorning we pass through Dalhart, which I have read is supposed to be the setting for several, based-on-a-true-story, horror movies. Maybe The Texas Chainsaw Massacre? "Dalhart doesn't look too bad," Adam says. I have to agree. Nothing too scary here, seems like the standard Podunk small Texas town, until I realize, there is not one Starbucks here! Oh, the horror. The horror!

The landscape flattens again, as we travel north, passing by irrigated, green fields--sorghum, perhaps? "Anything interesting out there?" says Miranda as she takes a break from playing a game to take pictures with her DSi. "Not yet," Adam says, "but you can see some hills up ahead," he says, pointing to the hazy, purple shapes in the distance.

We cross into New Mexico and into the Mountain Time zone at around 10 a.m., the first time Adam and the kids have been in the state. I have vague memories of the place from my cross-country ride from California to Memphis when I was a kid.

We breeze through Clayton, a weathered and dusty little town desperately trying to establish itself as a jumping off point for tourism in the area, "Crossroad Country, is its slogan. We see signs for the Santa Fe trails, Capulin Volcano, and an area tourism center, but don't stop. We are anxious to get to Colorado.

My ears begin to pop and we gradually gain elevation. A sign we pass says Mt. Dora. We speculate whether that is the name of a town or the mountain rising up in front of us. The landscape is changing from the barren, scrubby plains to rolling green fields.

We skirt the perimeter of the mountain and head northwest for 12 miles, passing the Capulin Volcano Park on the way. Bands of leather-clad bikers zoom pass us on the way.

"They should wear helmets," Miranda says.

As we wind our way through the mesas and rocky mountains, a breathtaking view of a mountain range unfolds before us. A check of the car thermometer reveals it to be cool 77 degrees.

"Our plan is coming together," Adam says.

"Oooh!" says Miranda. "I gotta go!"