Out in the Middle of Nowhere

One of our young friends was moving. His roommate said, "Don't move to St. Louis! You'll be out in the middle of nowhere."

"Look at a map" I retorted. "Living in Denver, we are in the middle of nowhere." It's 520 miles to Salt Lake City,  392 to Santa Fe, 554 to Kansas City. And heading north, there's nothing bigger than Cheyenne until Canada. 

The conversation came back to mind when we headed out of town to the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and pure nowhere. 

Which reminds me, on another trip in the southern part of the state, there is  a dot in the road named Saguache (pronounced Sawatch) whose motto is posted as "We've got a whole lot of nothing'."














Being in the middle of nowhere is a plus--fewer emergency sirens, far fewer vehicles on the road, and the stars are likely to be visible. 


So last week we headed for "nowhere". Once past Vail the people disappeared and the vegetation dried up. This vista shows the mesa, the flat table top of the mountains, stretching toward Utah.  

Bill said "This reminds me of Surry County, only more so."

"How so?" I countered. 

"Even less cars." 

 Less of everything, actually: people, houses, cars, and water. 

We laughed at this sign, because there weren't any green leaves to be seen, just dusty needles. 

Another road sign said "No Passing." No passing cows?  UFOs? 

 I bet a geologist would be able to explain the layers and vertical fracturing of the rocks. Interesting, but not my idea of beauty.














Our destination was Colorado's wine country. More literally, Colorado's wine town. Palisade, population around 3000, is in a small valley next to the Colorado River. Hard to believe, it hosts at least twenty five wineries. In addition to traditional wineries there are specialties: fruit wines, mead, or port. 

The few we made it to had something distinctive about them.

Plum Creek Winery displays art by sculptor Lyle Nichols.  He transformed found objects into this chicken. Observing closely was like being on a scavenger hunt. 

The art was more refined than the wine, but we did like a white blend.

Colterris, meaning, of the earth of Colorado, had a sophisticated dispensary of their wines. Bottles faced stood in a glass fronted shelf. They were side by side from the whites through rose to the heavy reds.  We bought a bottle for a gift.

Greystone was a cute building that boasted prize winning port wines behind a purple front door.

 

Under a surprisingly large weeping willow tree we enjoyed a lovely lunch at Maison La Belle Vie. They produce a merlot blend that I liked very much and wish I'd bought. Maybe it's available locally. 

The next day we headed higher into the mountains to Grand Mesa National Park. Unlike the mesa, there were many lakes, ponds and streams.  Kayakers and fishermen were enjoying the water despite the chilly air. 

From the ranger station we took a quick self-guided hike that explained some aspects of the ecosystem. This stand of aspen trees lets in light for various pines to start.

I noticed that the underbrush was much more varied than I usually see in Colorado forests. It must be the higher water content from snowfall. 










This was my favorite view. No houses, no sounds except wind in the trees and birds, but plenty of green. Out in the middle of nowhere, just the way I like.