West Kansas

As we continued east through Colorado, still on Old Highway 50, the landscape quickly blunted. The peaks and forests of the west had now been replaced by a wide and flat expanse of rurality. Farms increasingly dominated every perspective and numerous concrete granaries stood, like huge cathedrals that dominated the land. Looking out at endless fields in every direction, the common description that this area is the Breadbasket of America seemed appropriate. It felt like we had arrived in another country, so different was the landscape from what we had seen up until now.

Kansas State Border

After we crossed the Kansas state border we crossed another timezone and headed to Holcomb, the setting of a tragedy that went on to inspire Truman Capote to combine journalism and literature in 1966, the year that he published the first 'non-fiction novel'. 'In Cold Blood' (the book that he wrote) is a favourite of mine. It was the product of over 6 years of intense local research and it captured (to my eyes at least) the impact of the murders that took place in this small town, with both sympathy and poetry. It's legacy with regard to literature is obvious. By contrast, its legacy with regard to this small town is definitely more muted. Holcomb now seems like a sombre place that is imprisoned by its past. It appears concious not to cash in on the memory of the victims of that terrible crime (the Clutter family) and it does this with a dignity that I know would not be reflected had this event occurred elsewhere.

A Huge Granary and Holcomb (setting of 'In Cold Blood')

After a quick picnic in Holcomb, we jumped back in the Beast and continued east toward Dodge City, a former frontier town immortalised in countless wild-west stories. This town used to mark the boundary between the lawlessness of an untamed west and the more established settlements of the east. It prospered up until the late 1800's when Kansas officials decided to curb the activities of the countless saloon's and brothels that existed within its boundaries. Thankfully, or not, depending on your perspective, nothing of this wild history remains today. The town is aware of its past and has various references to its former glory emblazoned on bill boards, contrived historical recreations and on street signs; but the truth is that modern day Dodge is not the place that it should be given its history. How very disappointing.

So out of boredom rather due to some argument picked with a filthy gunman in a whisky swilling saloon, we got the hell out of Dodge. We were approaching the halfway point of our journey across to the Atlantic and so wanted to mark this achievement by visiting one of the handful of places that claims to be at the centre of middle America. We chose Kinsley, a town which has unofficially renamed itself 'Midway' to do this. It sits at the exact midpoint between New York and San Francisco, and offered little apart from a sleepy Main Street and some fantastically rustic wooden homes that clung to small dirt roads.

I have to admit that I liked this place because it represented something truly and authentically American. It was a remote functioning town, geographically separated by a large distance from everything other then wide sun baked fields. For a man from the comparatively small and congested island of Britain, it felt like another planet.

Kinsley Sign

© All Images By Paul

Central & Eastern Colorado

The continental divide is a line of peaks that runs through the centre of the Rocky Mountains. Apparently, although this sounds a little too simplistic for a skeptic like me, every drop of rain that lands to the east of this line will, through a variety of river systems, end up in the Atlantic ocean. By contrast, every drop that lands to the west (you guessed it), will end up in the Pacific. This is interesting if it is true. It means that, geologically at least, we are half way across America. It will also mean that it should be predominantly down hill as we continue our relentless march towards the eastern shoreline. The Beast will be happy about this.

The Continental Divide (and horses)

As we descended from the rooftop of America we entered Salida. Now, as long as you ignore the moderately sized doughnut of industrial sprawl that has wrapped itself around this (and most American) town(s), Salida is a picturesque and enjoyable place to be. It has embraced and preserved all the best elements of traditional Americana within its well maintained streets, bars and independent coffee shops. Also, alluring galleries and vintage shops are available around a tidy central park through which a steady, crystal clear stream flows, and beyond which the Rockies can be seen, tall and dark in the distance.

I really liked this place.

Saying Goodbye to the Rocky Mountains

Salida

Next was Cannon City, our first experience of a modern interpretation of the traditional gun slinging prison town. This place was not pretty, but I did like its honesty. So many modern small American towns appear to have stripped away their architectural heritage and replaced it with a sanatised and generic interpretation of modern living. To a European, these towns appear obsessed with the motor car, and separated from the grit and reality of the past. Cannon City is not like this at all and as a result it was a deeply fascinating place to spend an afternoon en route to the tourist trap that is Colorado Springs, and ultimately Denver.

Denver was a pleasant, if not immediately inspiring city with an attractive old town and a thriving government initiated Art district to its south, where local artists have been given the run of a deprived district (Santa Fe) in the bid to instigate gentrification. It was an interesting place to spend an afternoon.

This would be our last taste of a city prior to entry into the flat-lands that dominate the state of Kansas...

© All Images By Paul

Western Colorado

View As We Entered Colorado

We entered Colorado via Highway 70, which is the main artery linking this mountainous state with its westerly neighbour. Our first port of call was 30 miles east of the border, in the pristine, clean and pleasant streets of old town Grand Junction. Here, we stayed at the Hotel Melrose, a sincere and perfectly preserved classic hotel where every room was different and styled with an honest interpretation of the past. With our lodging secured, we ventured out onto a pretty but quiet main street that was sprinkled with sculpture and craft shops. Following a short walk, we found a brewery/ restaurant, which after a brief conversation with a waiter, was able to modify its menu to cater for the appetites of two particularly ravenous vegetarians. Typical of the meals that we have encountered so far, the food was solid, fresh and comforting. The beer however, was something special (Widowmaker - Rockslide Brewery); Pale and wheaty, it was brewed on location and is so far the best of the generally high quality of beer that we have encountered right across the States.

Grand Junction

Honestly, if there is one British attitude toward this country that is just wrong, it is the belief that Americans can’t do beer. It pains me to admit it, but today, there is more regional variety and quality in the average American bar then there is in the average British pub. It’s such a shame, but we have systematically destroyed our brewing heritage in the UK. It saddens me, and it makes me really appreciate the efforts of CAMRA and the establishments that preserve the few real ales and micro-breweries that remain.

Anyway, onwards and upwards.

Delta

Delta

The next day we headed out along Old Highway 50 towards the Rocky Mountains and a second night in what was proving to be an intensely beautiful state. En route, we passed through Delta, a town that appears to exist for no other purpose other then to claim its self awarded title of ‘American capital of murals’. It was undeniably a bizarre place, but it was definitely worth the 10 minutes it took to walk down its main street.

Foot of the Rockies

We then started our climb into the Rocky Mountains, which upon first impression reminded us both of a larger version of the landscape that you see in the Highlands of Scotland. This soon changed however, as we climbed higher and further into the huge evergreen forests that sit on its peak. Here lush green pines were lightly peppered with the bright yellow leaves of Aspens, each of which seemed to perform vibrantly within the autumn breeze and under the autumn sun. This journey had certainly taken us towards, round and over some of the most picturesque scenes that we had traveled through so far and I was loving every minute of it.

That night we decided to aim for Gunnison for no reason other then it was roughly a 3rd of the way across the rectangle that is Colorado. Gunnison, was a friendly and surprisingly hip college town that appeared to be preparing itself for the winter ski season. So after a coffee and a tasty vegan muffin, we departed the following morning, ...still heading east.


© All Images By Paul

Moab

And so onwards to Moab, an old uranium mining town that sits snuggly between the state parks of Arches and Canyonlands. It was "Outside" magazine which, tapping into a modern re-invigoration for adventure, helped to transform this once sleepy desert community into the thriving small town that it is today.

We arrived in the mid-afternoon after a long and pretty stretch of Highway 50, which the Beast devoured feverishly. Our first aim was to find lodging, something that we did, eventually, after slowly accepting that all local motels were going to charge an arm and a leg. That night, with an uncontrollable hunger, we hopped onto the main street to consume beer and pizza in a friendly bar which was nestled in-between the many T-shirt and 'craft' shops that dominate this town. The following morning, after a fantastic breakfast at the Eccentric Cafe, we went to Arches National park for a hike and some much needed exercise (this time armed with proper boots).

I am conscious that I am rapidly running out of adjectives to describe this state, which is concerning, but also inevitable when you consider that we have been confronted with such relentless beauty since we've been here. I guess that the best that I can do to describe the prehistoric stone structures that make up this park, is to emphasise their immensity and prevalence, and to describe how they appear to glide effortlessly out of the sun scorched red sands that dominate every view.

Honestly, never before have I seen so much geological beauty in such abundance across such a vast area.

Arches National Park (and Rebecca)

Arches National Park (and a very small Rebecca)

That evening, eager as we were to avoid the expense of the previous night, we checked into the friendly but infected Lazy Lizard youth hostel, where we cooked lemon courgette and watched Back to the Future in the communal room that sits in the middle of this incredibly cheap collection of wooden cabins. Then, fed and tired after a long day under the sun, we headed back to our wooden room, enthusiastic for sleep.

'Why haven't we stayed in more places like this' ...was the last thing we said to each other as we turned in for the night.

...4 hours later the answer to that question became abundantly clear. Miss Rebecca had been partially devoured by something nasty lurking within her mattress. Painful and very itchy. The cost of our frugality immediately swung into focus. We needed to check out of this place and check out fast.

Canyonlands & Arches National Parks (+ 2 intrepid adventurers).

Prior to arriving in Moab, I had been researching John Wesley Powell's 1869 attempt to navigate the aggressive Colorado River. With only one arm, and under instruction from President Jackson to survey the land for opportunity to initiate mass settlement for people with white faces, he managed to navigate a long stretch of this violent river. This tortuous experience almost turned him mad. It also forced him to respect the shear power and unpredictability that lies within nature; a respect that led him to speak out against others whose aim was the complete manipulation and domination of the natural world. His was an early green voice, now more relevant then ever.

With Powell's trip resonating in my mind, we booked a white water rafting excursion on a stretch of the Colorado, not far from Green River where his now famous journey began (click here to see a picture of this).

Right... bring on Colorado.

© All Images By Paul