Finishing up some blogging from my recent family trip to Colorado. Last week I posted about the flatland stuff (because, no matter how many times I visit, I’m always surprised at how flat the mile-high city is). The focal point of our trip to Colorado was… Well, technically it was because my Angels were playing the Rockies. That’s what got us to the state. But once there, we decided to head up to Rocky Mountain National Park for a couple days.

Estes Park

Estes Park, the town just outside the national park entrance, was an odd little berg. You know those small vacation towns: Artists who can’t compete in a legitimate marketplace head to tourist traps where visitors spend boatloads of cash on tchotchkes to commemorate their travels. Not sure who’s shopping for Christmas shit in June, but Estes Park had at least three Christmas stores. Perhaps the pine trees put people in the mood? Not that I saw many people going into or out of them. Good news for the proprietors, though. If they can’t make it selling wreaths and ornaments, they can always open another ice cream shop. 

Holy shit, there was more ice cream per capita than there was cannabis in Denver. I shit you not, there had to be at least ten of them on the three-block downtown. Salt water taffy, too. I’ve never really understood the draw of salt water taffy. I’ll have a piece or two, but they all taste the same and are a pain to eat. Can’t imagine there’s enough demand to carry an entire business, much less four on the same block. But clearly I’m wrong. Or maybe I’m not because, again, one never finds them in an actual city. In fact, prior to this trip, I always assumed they were only ubiquitous in seaside villages. You know, the whole “salt water” thing. But I guess salt can be added after the fact. 

A mystery even bigger than the number of ice cream (and taffy) stores is their closing time, which for most was 8:00 pm. In a normal town of 6,000, I might expect them to roll up the sidewalks early, but this is a vacation town. The two ice cream shops that stayed open until 9:00 pm were spilling over with patrons for that last hour. I’m no economist, but it seems the extra costs borne from staying open one more hour would more than be compensated by the number of ice cream scoops sold. Hell, one of them could’ve opened until 10:00 pm and still come out ahead. The only thing waiting for us back at the hotel was the copy of Legally Blonde Daughter picked out from the DVD library. Even salt water taffy started sounding good.

At the other end of our culinary day, we found the most wonderful spot for breakfast. Well, not a full breakfast, but donuts! And not full donuts, but mini donuts. 

What are mini donuts, you ask? Um… they’re donuts… but mini. Seemed a little odd at first, because the minimum order is four donuts, but they all have to be the same flavor. Wife and Daughter kept having issues with this, even on day two, trying to come up with four flavors for the four mini donuts, but if we wanted four flavors, the minimum number of donuts we’d be acquiring is sixteen. But once you get the ordering down, and once you realize that four mini donuts has about the same dough as one standard donut, it’s just a matter of picking the proper flavor.

But damn, those flavors were decadent. We went three days in a row and had everything from cinnamon sugar to Nutella to red velvet crumbles. Each donut is practically swimming in the flavor. Each is served in its own cardboard to-go container, the bottom of which is coated with the glaze or coating. After eating the cinnamon sugar donuts, Wife poured the rest of it into her latte to make her own cinnamon dolce. And to think we didn’t even make it through half of the menu.

Even better was the motif of the donut shop. It’s named Squatchy Donuts, complete with more Bigfoot paraphernalia that you can shake a stick, or point a shaky film camera, at. I never thought of Colorado as a big Bigfoot area. Always associated it more with Oregon and Washington, but I suppose he shows up wherever there are forests, mountains, and legal narcotics.

If only we could’ve had donuts and ice cream for every meal. Unfortunately, almost every other meal we had in Estes Park was the culinary equivalent of a Christmas shop in June. Our first night wasn’t terrible, as we found a pasta place with a messy baked pasta that was at least worthwhile. Daughter’s mac n’ cheese off the kid’s menu was probably the best part, as they put mini shells in an alfredo sauce and threw some mozzarella on top. She wasn’t thrilled, because it wasn’t her idea of proper mac n’ cheese, but Wife and I thought it was great. 

The next two meals were lackluster burgers. On the menu, they sounded great, one with pulled pork and the other featuring bleu cheese and grilled onions. Unfortunately, the meat in both was subpar. I’d think they were frozen Costco patties except I didn’t see a Costco this side of Denver. The other problem was that both seemed to pass “medium” about an hour before they were taken off the grill. Scratch that. Neither was grilled. They were both griddled.

Wife’s options were similarly lackluster. She ordered a grilled cheese that seemed to have one slice of cheese between two pieces of white bread. The following day her nachos promised guacamole but instead had some “avocado” “puree” that again seemed like it came out of a freezer. I know, coming from California, we’re spoiled with avocado, but Colorado isn’t exactly Timbuktu. Half the damn residents were California transplants back in the 1990s and 2000s.

I know these touristy towns don’t have to worry about repeat customers. It probably behooves them to not waste effort on good food. Even if they’re the best in town, nobody’s eating there more than once. But sheesh, can we find the hockey puck store they’re all getting their meat from and shut it down?

Until we finally realized we should just dine at the only fancy place in town.

Stanley Hotel

Our last two meals in Estes Park were at its most famous locale. We went to Post Chicken and Beer, a franchise with a couple locations outside Estes Park (and with a name like Chicken & Beer, how can I go wrong?), for dinner, then returned to the hotel’s Brunch and Co the next morning. 

Both times, we had to pay to park. It’s $10 to park, but you get a token that you can use for $5 off food or merchandise. Kinda like a reverse validation. Encourage people to spend money there and not, say, wander around in a certain hedge maze. 

Allegedly.

The allegedly doesn’t pertain to the hedge maze, cause you’re damn right I did that, even if it isn’t quite as full in June as, say, the middle of winter when only the caretaker is there.

No, the allegedly deals with this token that might or might not take five bucks off one’s purchase. It’s not that Post Chicken or Brunch & Co didn’t take them. They probably would have. But there was no fucking way I was spending a token that looked like this:

And yeah, I went twice. Why didn’t I spend the second token at brunch? Cause I have friends who like The Shining, too.

I had always heard that the Stanley Hotel tried to distance itself from the fictional Overlook hotel that is based on it. Maybe I’m thinking of the Timberline Lodge in Oregon, which was used as the external shots in the movie. I know they’re the ones who asked room 217 to be changed to 237 in the movie because there is no 237 at the Timberline and they worried people would avoid 217. Then again, the Stanley Hotel didn’t even let the movie be filmed there, so maybe at one time I was correct and they weren’t leaning into The Shining.

Not so anymore. Holy crap, it’s like a Stephen King amusement park. In the gift shop, you can buy anything you want with the word Redrum emblazoned on it. Or ties, socks, dog leashes, you name it, in the iconic 1970s carpet that Danny keeps riding his tricycle on and off. And that hedge looks like it’s a recent addition. Maybe in a few years, it’ll be as daunting as the movie. Not the book, though, because I think it was animal hedges in the book.

Instead of worrying that customers would be hesitant to stay in room 217, they’ve renamed it the Stephen King Suite and charge twice as much for it.

Don’t believe me? Check out the menu at the brunch restaurant:

The brunch food, by the way, was decadent. I got the “Here’s Johnny.” 

I also bought the 1970s carpet tie.

Rocky Mountain National Park 

I’ve always been a big outdoorsy fan, and thankfully Daughter has followed in some of those footsteps. I used to camp in Yosemite and near Devil’s Postpile every year when I was young. Back in the good old days, if you stood outside a Ticketron at 6:00 in the morning, you were guaranteed a camping spot. These days, you’re put into a virtual queue with all the lazy asses who didn’t roll out of bed until five minutes before the tickets went on sale. I have yet to discover a magic touch.

We’ve taken her to Yosemite a number of times, but most of the time we have to stay outside the park. Unlike Estes Park, the towns “directly outside” Yosemite are still a good ninety minutes from the valley floor, so she’s never been to an evening ranger show or shouted “Elmer!” all night long (Do they still do that? I guess I’ll find out if I ever get to the front of the virtual queue). Still, she’s well versed in the major attractions and how fun it is to skip stones across the Merced River.

So why not branch out to National Park #2? And better the Rocky Mountains than shitholes like Joshua Tree and Death Valley, which qualify more as “Places to Speed Through en route to Vegas” than “majestic works of nature that ought to be preserved.” Seriously, was someone trying to develop Death Valley into a condominium complex? I don’t think the ghost of Teddy Roosevelt’s the only market force conspiring against that particular pipe dream.

Wasn’t really sure what to expect from RMNP, though. It appeared to only have one major road going through, and I didn’t see us backpacking with Canadian flags. So I treated it like Yosemite and looked up shorter hikes with lakes and waterfalls. That’s what national parks are for, is it not? 

There’s good and bad news about those lakes and waterfalls in RMNP. Yes, there are plenty of them, and in fact many of them are close to each other with shortish walks in between. The bad news is we couldn’t get to any of them on day #1 because I’d made the wrong reservation.

Timed Entry

At Rocky Mountain National Park, you have to reserve your entry time to the park. A lot of national parks started doing this during Covid, because, you know, we don’t want to encourage people to go outdoors when there’s a disease that spreads indoors. Most of the parks have gone back to no reservations for daily use (including Yosemite, which is second guessing itself after being absolutely swarmed with people this year), but RMNP is still doing its Covid thing. 

Some of the reserved entry times were released months ago, but when I checked back in May, only times after 11:00 am were available. I wasn’t opposed to waiting until lunchtime to enter, but if there are hikes and views and such, a morning entry time was more ideal. Fortunately they hold half their entry visas back until the evening before each entry date. Guessing Estes Park and Grand Lake don’t want word getting out that if you didn’t log in to recreation.gov three months ago, don’t bother coming to spend your tourist dollars here. 

I was a little worried that I’d be out of cell range when 5:00 hit, but we left Denver at such a time that we would be heading through Boulder right around the prescribed time with an understanding that, if traffic wasn’t too bad and we were ahead of schedule, we’d stop off for some coffee and wifi. 

However, while I hovered over the refresh button, I failed to notice there were two different entry passes. One said “Park Access Timed Entry.” Stupidly, I picked that option because, I don’t know, I wanted… park access? I didn’t realize that, for the same price right below it was “Park Access Timed Entry – Includes Bear Lake Road.” Want to guess where all the lakes and waterfalls are?

One last mention of the Timed Entry system. It’s extremely popular. As you can tell by this screenshot where it’s received over 12,000 ratings with an average of 4 stars!

What the hell are these people reviewing? It’s not the park itself, as most of the features and locations have their own listings, with much higher numbers and averages. So they are literally rating the process of making the reservation. The only other thing I can think of is using five stars or one star to show solidarity or opposition with the idea of limiting park access. I guess some people have to review everything. Maybe that’s why every minimum wage employee expects to be tipped now. The tablet’s “just going to ask me some questions,” huh? Boy that’s a nosy-ass tablet. At least now I know I can hit the skip button and just assume I’m the guy leaving a one-star review of a website selling entry times.

Regardless of the reason, I imagine that four-star rating comes from 80% of the people giving it five stars and the other 20% giving it one. Nobody is hedging their bets with a four or a three, right? Either you got your timed entry or you didn’t. Five stars or one. Unless, like me, they were stressing out about wifi availability. In fact, when we wanted to reserve our spot for day two, this time with Bear Lake Road access, we had to leave the park to be back in town for its precious 4G connectivity at the proper time. Maybe that makes it less than five stars? Better yet, how about I just get my park access and double back to the main page to tell the world about it.

Day One

Since we couldn’t go down their precious Bear Lake Road on day one, which was not only the (more or less) only road in the park besides the main road, but was also right inside the park entrance, taunting us plebs as we drove past. 

There was another side road we contemplated taking which was closed during winter but which should totally have been fine because there wasn’t a ton of snow on the ground despite the elevation. But evidently it was closed to “prepare” it for the summer season. Totally fine because when we made it to the visitor center, I saw said road from the other end and holy shit, when they say it’s a dirt road, they mean a motherfucking dirt road. 

The paved road was bad enough. Some white-knuckled fucking curves there. You don’t realize how tight your sphincter is until you round the bend and the sheer drop-off is now on the left side of the road, meaning a veer of an inch to the right would only result in a legal battle between my insurance company and the car rental company instead pf a legal battle between gravity and this mortal coil. 

The views, though, were spectacular. I didn’t expect regular ol’ valleys and peaks to be breathtaking. Sure, the two biggest draws in Yosemite are valleys (okay, maybe Hetch Hetchy is third behind Tuolumne Meadows but I doubt Tuolumne Meadows will open this year), complete with peaks, but those peaks are distinctive. I can pick El Capitan and Half Dome out from an airplane while flying to Southern California. There’s also something to be said for driving down into that valley, skipping rocks across the river. And have I mentioned the waterfalls?

Editors note: Don’t drive down into Hetch Hetchy. Those environmentalists in San Francisco need their pure drinking water, which they can’t possibly get from anywhere other than damming up a pristine natural beauty. Oh, and you’ll probably drown, too.

The valleys and peaks in Rocky Mountain were magnificent not from their distinctiveness but from their lack thereof. Every time we faced a new direction, the myriad of points made the view different. A number of curves had pullouts, and although we didn’t stop at all of them (especially those on the left), each time we saw one, we said,  “Wow, that must be the view that this road is all about. That must be what people come to the park to see. Can’t imagine anything better.” Then three miles further, we’d repeat the mantra.

I know pictures of wide-open spaces are as useless in conveying their beauty as it comes. Same goes with fireworks. But too bad, because I’m still going to sic some worthless photos on ya:

We finally came to a full stop at the highest visitor center in the United States. And not just from the drugs. Although one of the cashiers from Pennsylvania said she was having the “best time” with her summer job in Colorado, then proceeded to pontificate about George Harrison’s post-Beatles discography. 

In her defense, I was wearing a Beatles t-shirt and she politely asked if I liked the Beatles first which seems an odd question for someone wearing a Beatles shirt. Then again, I can’t tell you how many of my students wear Nirvana, Anthrax, and Pantera shirts without being able to name a single goddamn song. “I didn’t know it was a band.”

No, the reason it’s the highest is elevation. Over 11,000 feet, to be… not really “exact,” but you get where I was going. I originally thought it was on the continental divide, but it was a fair amount to the east, so I didn’t get to drop some water and see which way it would flow. But there was a hike (a staircase, really) from the parking lot up to just over 12,000 feet. Wife made it about halfway, while Daughter and I mustered the courage to walk up some stairs, her with more gusto than I.

The hike isn’t hard from a usual hike-rating system, but at that elevation, everything takes on a different dimension. Some people get nausea and headaches, but fortunately those didn’t hit me. I got some dizziness and, according to my Fitbit, my heartrate rose far higher than on a normal flight of stairs, even a flight of stairs that goes on for a quarter-mile. One of the other symptoms is a lack of appetite, so with those two symptoms together, I should come here to diet.

When I made it to the top, just over 12,000 feet elevation, it was windy. It was beautiful, too. But first and foremost, it was windy. 

There was a preteen girl at the top whose mom took her picture while she did a handstand. It took a few attempts before she got it. I guess she’s doing something called “Handstands Across America.” I hope it’s not as dumb as the Hands Across America we did in the 1980s. I remember months of buildup and then when it happened, it was a whole bunch of “that was it? No countdown or live satellite shot or nothing?” I think it was designed to raise money for something like homelessness, or maybe Africa, although I think Africa was saved by a rock concert and there’s been no troubles in Africa ever since. I don’t see how me touching a random stranger helped homelessness. Or Africa, for that matter. 

On our way out of the park (in time to get the entry pass for the next day), we stopped by Sheep Lake. There were no sheep. There was a moose, though. We didn’t stick around long enough for the sheep to come home and be all, “Hey fuckface, can you not read what the fucking lake is called?” Then again, maybe the sheep would wisely step aside and let this big ol’ moose hang out where he pleases.

Day Two

On the second day in the park, we finally got to drive down the Hellfire Club of Rocky Mountain National Park. Still couldn’t park there, mind you. My dumb ass tried, though.

I didn’t believe the sign at the beginning of Bear Lake telling us that Bear Lake parking lot was full. It seemed like a very permanent sign and considering it was still before 9:00 in the morning, I assumed it was there to discourage people from driving on the road that they’d explicitly signed up to drive on. I’m sure there were a bunch of people who, like me, didn’t realize there were two options and accidentally bought access to this road. And the sign is designed to encourage them to make their way toward all those beautiful vistas I was relegated to yesterday.

The other option makes less sense, that they limit the entry to this road but still don’t provide enough parking for the number of cars they already know will visiting? It’s like the opposite of the standard used in suburban stretch malls, where they make a parking lot big enough to cover all the hypothetical cars that will show up on Black Friday, so most of the spots go unused 364 days out of the year. Meanwhile on Bear Lake Road, they know precisely how many cars are coming each day, yet the parking lots are all taken up before 9:00 am? Let me put on my skeptical face.

So I also blew past the “Park n’ Ride” lot halfway down the road. It said we could park there and ride a shuttle to the lake. Again, it was a permanent sign claiming every other lot was full. Plus we’d seen no shuttles and if they were anything like Yosemite, there’d be a good twenty minutes between shuttles. I’m not falling for their damn tricks.

A half-hour later, after passing at least five shuttles, we were back in the park n’ ride lot, waiting in a line that rivaled Disneyland. We’d taken the road to its bitter end only to be turned away by the parking attendant who let the car in front of us in for the “last spot.” Still, I think we only had to wait for the third shuttle, which were seven minutes apart from each other, so add that to the drive to the end of the road and back, and maybe my inability to read instructions only put us behind by an hour or so. Fortunately there weren’t any storms or scorchers due for later in the day. We’ll just call this a dress rehearsal for Death Valley, where such a minor setback might make us dehydrated mummies on the tail end. 

When we finally made it to Bear Lake, it was beautiful. A simple hike takes you around the lake to view it from all vantage points that looked totally different from each other while on the hike but the pictures of are virtually indistinguishable. There were a few spots that the posted sign considered “treacherous,” which turned out to mean “about as steep as a driveway.” I think the sign’s designation was only meant for wheelchair-bound visitors, but after my disbelief of the parking lot signs, I wasn’t taking any chances. That being said, after circling the lake, I couldn’t tell you which spots were considered more or less difficult. It felt pretty steady to me.

When we returned to the shuttle spot, we had a few options. At least two other lakes seemed a short hike away. Nymph Lake, which would’ve led to all sorts of sophomoric jokes if Daughter hadn’t been with us, was only a half-mile, but it looked small on the topographic map. Dream Lake, which I assume must be pretty, was a farther jaunt, and there was another lake, Emerald Lake, beyond that. I was relatively certain we were on borrowed hiking time with the child. While I might’ve gotten a half-mile out of her, “Let’s go to lake numbers three and four” would be met with open revolt. 

If there’s a waterfall at the end of said hike, though…

Alberta Falls, which an odd moniker unless we’d somehow transported to Banff, was less than a mile away. It had been my initial goal when researching Bear Lake Road the previous night. One lake, one waterfall, and I’m good. But all the stuff we read about the Alberta Falls indicated we should get off at the Glacier Gorge parking lot/shuttle stop, not Bear Lake. From Glacier Gorge, it’s less than a mile. But the trailhead at Bear Lake claimed Alberta Falls was a mile away. 

I asked the ranger which route to the falls would be best. He said to start from Bear Lake, because it’s a half-mile down followed by a half-mile up, as opposed to Glacier Gulch, from whence it’s uphill the whole way. Then we can exit via the downhill, which allegedly is easier although try telling my knees that. Downhill at least leads to less Daughter whining.

Great info from that ranger. Maybe they should’ve posted one in the middle of the road at the park n’ ride.

What followed was a half-hour of “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” I might’ve made it worse by telling her “This is the waterfall we’ve been hiking to” every time we passed a trickle. “Isn’t it beautiful and totally worth the effort to get here?” Once or twice she believed me. Hilarious until I try to get her to move onward again.

The actual falls were very pretty. You come at them from the side, so they appear to be coming out of the rocks. I kept moving around trying to find a better angle, but head-on wasn’t happening. We walked a little ways on, hoping the trail might double-back to see the falls from above, but nope. Off in a totally different direction. I commented that I might scramble up those rocks because they were totally climbable. Wife reminded me that, pushing fifty with a history of gout, it isn’t the rocks but the scrambler whose limits must be taken into account. Contemplated sending Daughter up to take a picture, because she could run up them without any negative consequences, but it would be a crapshoot whether she dropped the phone onto said rock or over the falls. No way was it coming back as unscathed as her.

In the end, I settled for this vantage point.

Final thoughts

Whereas Yosemite Valley is cozy and local, RMNP is vast and grandiose. Every direction I turned could be a park of its own. We never even made it to the Continental Divide or anything else west of the visitor center, partly because we felt the need to stop every couple miles to view an entirely new vista. There’s an abandoned town up near the headwaters of the Colorado River? Wow, I can’t imagine how many extra days of exploring it would’ve taken for us to make it that far into the park.

And how many daily reservations? At some point, I wasn’t going to have coverage until 5:05 pm, and I would be giving a less-than-five-star review.

I like that so many lakes and waterfalls are that close to each other, with seemingly simple hikes between them. While we opted for only one lake and one waterfall this time, I could totally see opting for three or four lakes in one fell swoop on a repeat visit.

Except for this lake. It was visible in the distance on the day one drive. Guessing it’s inaccessible, but dammit, I want a parking lot right the fuck there right the fuck now. I’d even reserve a different road access to get there.

Finally, we spent a ton of money while there. Must’ve visited at least four, maybe five, visitor and interpretive centers, and probably bought something each time. A National Parks passport. And a journal. And a water bottle. Plus rocks and postcards and those “smash the penny” machines that somehow claim to not be a felony. Two of the visitor centers are outside the park, probably to let those unreserveds still spend money lying about actually making it inside.

It’s easy to justify the purchases, since the money goes to a good cause of preserving these pristine miracles of nature for future generations. Not that they need our money, because it’s funded through tax money regardless of whether we buy a damn thing. 

So here’s my question. Shouldn’t my national park souvenir purchases be tax deductible? It’s all going to the same place. The government takes income out of my paycheck and they also get my money for their stupid tchotchkes? It’s all going into the same “Congressional Hookers & Blow” slush fund. I feel like the government would rather us give the money to them than to donate to those whiny charities anyway.

While I’m at it, I also need to renew my passport soon. Where’s my W-2 for that?

Gonna leave you with the view from the back porch/balcony from our hotel in Estes Park. Not a bad place to read a book.