Pikes Peak or Bust

We get up early on Thursday, our last day here in Colorado, and head out to Pikes Peak. We decide to drive up the 19 miles to the summit, instead of riding the Cog Railway, an incline train which takes three-hours round trip. We didn't relish the thought of being in a confined space with our squirmy, screaming year old for that length of time, so driving won out.

We start to climb as soon as we enter the park, and take a short break at the Crystal Reservoir before we start tackling the tough part of the road. The ranger on duty chats us up for a while, then takes me aside and points to the barren peak in front of us.

"You see that tiny spot up there? That is the Summit House, where you are going to end up," he says. "And you see what looks like a "W" up the on the top? That's the road you are going to be diving on."

"And what's the road like?" I say. "I'm afraid of heights, but no one else in the family is."

"Scary," he says, chuckling at my obvious trepidation. "You'll be screaming up there."

Oh boy.

No one screams, but the trip up is a white-knuckled hour and a half drive up of sharp turns, perilous switchbacks and segments of road hugging shear drop offs without guardrails. The view is stunning, when I can bear to look out the window. Finally, we reach the summit, and treat ourselves with famous Pikes Peak high-altitude doughnuts and souvenirs. The trip down is even scarier, but Adam takes his time down the mountain slowly but surely. We rest at the base of the mountain and have a picnic lunch at a picturesque picnic site, blanketed with wildflowers. We agree that saying we made it to the top of Pikes Peak makes the journey worthwhile. The actual drive up? Not so enjoyable. Once is probably enough.

We reward the kids for our mountain expedition with a trip to the North Pole, a kitschy 50-year old theme park, featuring North Pole inspired rides, shows and gift shops. The kids have a blast riding the rides, until a thunderstorm cuts our visit short. Actually, it is time to leave--as everyone is suffering a bit from altitude sickness (headaches, nausea and fatigue) caused by ascending the more than 14,000 feet to Pikes Peak earlier.

We head back to the hotel to rest, and then eat dinner at The Airplane Restaurant, a restaurant housed in an old propeller plane. The service is horrible and so is the food, but the kids love playing in the plane’s cockpit, looking at all the airplane memorabilia and playing with the flight simulator. After dinner we go back to the hotel and start packing. Sadly, our visit to Colorado Springs is almost at an end.

Going home
Adam wakes up before the sun is even up, makes us breakfast and starts packing the car. The kids take a while longer to wake up, and Mitch hurts his neck somehow, delaying our start back home until about 7:30 a.m. He cries and cries until he calms down and falls asleep in his car seat. Poor tired boy. No nap the day before and going to sleep late have caught up with him I think.

We take one last look at the purple mountain majesty made so famous in "America the Beautiful," and begin our long, long, long trek back home across the front range of the Rockies and the plains. The drive back is not as fun, since there’s nothing new to see or do. Temperatures are hitting the 100 plus mark again as we head east. We are missing Colorado. We stop at Wichita Falls and spend the night, eager to get back to Houston.

Waving from such great heights

The Olympic Training Center is the first stop on our Colorado Springs tour today—a cold, wet Wednesday that necessitates windbreakers and jackets. We sit in awe as we watch film clips of past Olympic highs and lows. Then we observe Olympic athletes training in a variety of sports including shooting, volleyball, weight lifting and swimming. Our little swimmer, Miranda, is inspired, until she learns that the swimmers swim for an hour and a half to two hours a day, two times a day. Two times a week is good enough for her, she says.

The weather is yucky, so we rest in the hotel for a while. Refreshed, we set out for

Seven Falls—billed as, “the only waterfall in Colorado listed in the National Geographic list of

International waterfalls.” The falls are beautiful, cascading down the side of a majestic red rock, box canyon lush with pine trees. We decide it isn’t enough to view the falls safely from the ground, and the whole family climbs the 224 steps up the side of the cliff to the top of the falls. I only freaked out a little. As I explained to the rest of the family, I am not necessarily afraid of heights, I am afraid of falling--actually I am afraid of the kids falling. Actually, I am afraid of Mitch falling. But he does well, and so do I---once I am back on the ground.

We end with free slices of pie (Free Pie Wednesdays!!!) from local chain diner, called The Village Inn. Three berry pie. Can it get any better than that?

Into the abyss

Did I mention yet that I am afraid of heights, and that mountains are high? Let’s just say that this trip is turning into a “facing your fears,” experience for me, whether I planned it that way or not.

Today we head southwest for an hour to Royal Gorge and Bridge, one of the world’s highest suspension bridges – hanging 956 feet high and spanning a quarter mile across the canyon below. The bridge is sturdy, not like a suspension bridge you see breaking under the heroes in a movie just as the bad guys are about to get them. Cars can drive across it. The view is spectacular, and I am doing OK as long as Adam keeps the kids toward the middle. If they linger too long at the railing, I freak out a little.

“Mommy is going crazy,” Miranda says.

“Yes, I am a little,” I admit. “Stay away from the edge!”

Once on the other side, the kids get an eyeful of the bighorn sheep, elk and buffalo in the wildlife preserve. We decide to ride back to the other side on the tram, a tiny red car, hanging from a few wires over the canyon. Oh lord. We hike, and hike, and hike up to the top of the cliff. Then we wait, and wait, and wait some more. Mitch can’t take it anymore, so he and Adam head on back down the hill and across the bridge. Just then, the tram comes and Miranda and I get on.

“Will you hold my hand,” I ask Miranda.

“Oh, you scaredy cat,” Miranda replies.

The elderly conductor locks the door of the tram behind us, and the car of chattering tourists is silent in nervous anticipation. It lurches forward and I grab onto the side and look down, down, down. It is so FAR down. I try to listen as the conductor tells us the facts and figures about the Gorge, but I all I can hear is the voice inside my brain saying, “Now we are a quarter of the way there. Now we’re halfway there. Now we are there!”

We made it! It takes another 20 minutes of so for my heart rate to get back to normal. We spend another hour or so at the park and then have a picnic lunch outside the park grounds—until the biting flies chase us off. OK, now I can see why Adam hates picnics (and he HATES picnics).

Next, we head to Cripple Creek—subject of the Band song “Up on Cripple Creek” and a once-bustling gold boom town. Now, it is a kind-of -depressing Indian casino town, but we had fun riding the Cripple Creek railroad and learning about the gold boom times. We capped off our trip with some ice cream while watching oldsters play the slots.

We drive some more, up and down stunning green mountains and valleys, and take our tired, bedraggled selves out to dinner in Manitou Springs. Then it is time to get back to the hotel for some much needed rest. What’s on deck for tomorrow? We still gotta tackle Pikes Peak, but I think we’ll save the best for last.

The gods must be crazy

It doesn’t last, of course.

“I’m hungry,” Mitchell says.

“We’re lost,” wails Miranda in the backseat.

“Shhh,” say Adam and I in unison.

We are snaking through the Gardens of the Gods park at a painfully, snail-like pace. The view is spectacular, red rocks towering over the scrub brush below like psychedelic skyscrapers, but there’s nary a picnic table is sight. Admitting defeat, we head back over the visitor’s center and get a map, which leads us to the perfect picnic site. We eat our sandwiches under a shady tree and watch kids scrambling over a two-story rock, blatantly flouting park rules against climbing the rocks.

“They aren’t allowed to get on the rocks,” Miranda says. “I am going to tell them to get off,” Miranda says.

“Well, we aren’t the park police,” Adam says. “That’s up to their parents. They’ll learn their lesson if they fall off and break their necks (light sarcasm).”

“Well I hope they do,” Miranda says.

“No you don’t!” I interject.

“Well, they should get off the rocks,” Miranda reiterates.

The kids are getting restless, so we decide to take a short hike around the picnic site. What was meant to be a short loop starts off well, but turns into the Bataan death march as the sun beats relentlessly and the kids’ energy flags. We head back to the hotel to rest, eat popcorn and watch SpongeBob, until we decide what to do next.

Getting primitive

The next day, at Miranda’s suggestion, we make the Manitou Cliff Dwellings our first real stop on our Colorado Springs adventure. We get there early, about 9:30 a.m., and are pleasantly surprised to find it is not too crowded. The temperature is just right, in the mid ‘70s. After a quick coating of sunscreen, the kids make a beeline toward primitive buildings built into the side of a red cliff—the ancient home of the Anasazi Indians. We follow them inside the dark, cramped passageways. Keeping up with the kids doesn’t give me much time to read about the history, but I do learn that the Indians didn’t quarry any of the stone they used, they gathered it by hand from the surrounding mountains and carried it back themselves, because they had no horses then to carry the load. Whew!

Next comes a tour of the teeny adjacent museum and the requisite gift shop tour. Then Miranda has her face painted like an Indian princess, while Mitchell happily licks his new lollipop, shaped like an Indian feather. After spending a couple of hours at the cliff dwellings, we pack the kids into the car, in search of a picnic spot at Garden of the Gods—a park famous for its unusual, red rock formations.

“That was a fun place,” Mitchell says without prompting.

“Yes, it was,” Miranda says.

Awesome, I think (totally without sarcasm). For one moment, they both are happy! At the same time.