Sometimes the Road is Closed

My husband and I have spent the last twelve and a half(ish) years dating on dirt roads. It just occurred to me we even got married off of one. His love language is studying map after map and then taking me to new places, some known to him, but most of them only explored with maps and the help of Google Earth.

“I’m pretty sure there will be a dope view at the end of this road,” is a favorite line he says to himself on the couch at home. We’ve been collecting dope views for over a decade together, and yes, we really say “dope views” because we both think it’s funny.

One of our first dates was a drive on the Peak to Peak highway, a scenic byway in the Front Range Mountains above Boulder. We were in his very old 5-speed Subaru winding through the mountain roads. Occasionally, he’d stopped the car at a look out points, and I’d ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ at all of the views.

In this corner of the state, the roads we explore are rarely paved. Our Mountain Car, a 2013 Toyota 4-Runner is the one we take on our adventures, chosen over the Toyota Highlander for the clearance. Both are four-wheel drive and can handle a rugged road, but the 4Runner reigns supreme over the sudo-minivan. The scratches from branches, endless chips, and dings from rocks prove she’s well traveled.

Annually, and typically post-hunting season, the Forest Rangers begin to shut down access to the high altitude mountain roads. The internet will tell you seasonal closures are in place to reduce disturbing the wintering wildlife when resources are scarce, but I think they close them because (understandably), they don’t want to rescue more cars and people than necessary.

Each November, we ride to the top of our favorite roads, thank them for a wonderful Summer and Fall, and wish them well for the winter. Anything can happen over a hard winter and sometimes in the summer too, including rockfalls that can knock out a full mountain road for years. A recent example is Imogene Pass, an off road mountain pass that takes only the bravest of explorers from Ouray to Telluride, CO. We have yet to test our courage on it, but in August of 2024, excessive rain caused a huge mudslide, making the top half of the road inaccessible and closed to the public. It’s slated to open in September of 2025, though I’d guess it will close soon after due to the winter elements settling in early in the high altitude.

Around May each year, Jake and I start itching to get some high altitude under our wings. We miss the endless views. We miss the thin air. We miss the isolation.

Winters are spent in the beautiful valley floors or the nearby Utah desert, but when you live where we do and have access to the tops of the mountains - the top is where you want to be.

This past weekend, we explored a road neither of us have been on, but it has been on the list for a few years. Yes, we have an actual list. It’s a shared note between mine and Jake’s phones entitled - “Equally Dope Shit,” and I laugh every time I get a notification when he adds something to it.

The area we were interested in getting to is called Wheeler Geologic Area, in between South Fork and Creede, Colorado. It was Colorado’s first National Monument in 1908, but was reverted to Forest Service management in the 50’s. It is a bizarre landscape, formed primarily by volcanic ash erosion, and surprisingly, I don’t know anyone that has visited it.

What we’ve noticed living in Southwest Colorado is - you’re on your own.

Do it yourself exploring.

Very few roads are marked in the obvious sense and very little can be found online. Sometimes you just have to turn down the dirt road and take it as far as it will go. Yesterday, we took the road as far as it would go and our adventure was cut short around 10,800 feet above sea level when we were met with the “Road Closed” sign we’d hoped we wouldn’t find.

I told Jake I wish they had put that sign 14 miles ago, but if they had, we may not have seen the great views of the Continental Divide and Rio Grande River Valley we both stood in awe enjoying.

Yesterday’s adventure wasn’t what we had planned, but it was still a day filled with ‘ooos’ and ‘ahhs,’ incredible views, and the thin mountain air I know and love. I clocked another dirt road date with the man I call mine and the dog we never leave behind.

There’s probably an analogy in here if I looked for it longer, but I think the message is this — sometimes the road is just closed.