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Cañon City

Along the way, we had been hoping to meet up with my Uncle John, who was traveling in his van. Unfortunately, the van had broken down in New Mexico, and parts were hard to acquire. He had hoped to meet us at Grand Junction, then Silverton or Durango. But now he had finished repairs at Albuquerque. I had chosen not to structure the day, but figured we might stay in Golden, outside Denver, possibly visit the Colorado Railroad Museum along the way to the airport. With about 90 minutes of sunlight left, we set our sites South of Denver: Cañon City, still in the mountains off of I-25.

Cañon City’s economy has long relied on the prison industry.

We had a nice dinner downtown. As the meal wound down I rolled over to a budget hotel two blocks away, which boasts a pool and a hot tub and an indifferent clerk, who charged my card and handed me key cards to a pair of rooms which were … adequate. The next morning, waiting for people to stir, I took a nice walk around the old part of Cañon City, taking pictures of dinosaur statues and the historic prison. Uncle John rolled up, and we all brunched in the dining room of the historic hotel three blocks over, and someone asked why we hadn’t stayed there. I had asked myself the same question. However, the budget hotel had a pool and a hot tub, though I don’t think any of us ever confirmed this with our own eyes.

After breakfast at the fancy hotel where we didn’t stay, Younger Son was drawn to their pool … table.

Cañon City has a tourist railroad. It boards just across the street from the budget hotel. I looked into it. The fare was about 50% more than a night at the adjacent budget hotel, and 25% higher than the Durango and Silverton. The trip is half as long. A diesel engine from a freight train. “But the cars have premium butcher block dining tables where you will eat food from our onboard restaurant. And yes, German tourist, you should tip the server.” On the day of my 50th birthday in January I took the family on a “wine train” excursion near Sacramento. It was okay, but what I figured out is that there are two kinds of tourist trains you can ride: one kind is the “historic preservation” railroad where folks who love trains try to fix them up As They Were and fund the work with rides and tours. The other kind is “that old branch line is worth money.” Go find some old rolling stock and a business plan and Capitalism ensues. I gave the Royal Gorge Route Railroad a pass.

Our Budget Hotel room window opened onto the alley, which was alright. On my walk, I noticed that at some point they apparently lost interest half way through re-painting the exterior.

We had an afternoon flight, and had had a fulfilling week. Our next destination was Denver International. Instead of making a beeline to I-25, we chose to drive Northeast, milking the experience of rural highways for one last hour, until we hit Colorado Springs. There, Grandma and Uncle John kept Northeast in the van, bound for Chicago. I merged onto I-25, commencing our return trip to Civilization.