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Back from Ouray...
Jul. 16th, 2004 09:45 pmIf one heads north out of Durango on Highway 550, one will end up in a town called Silverton after about 50 miles of fairly interesting roadway. Only the curves have guardrails, really, and a moment's inattention would likely have an extremely unpleasant result involving "deceleration trauma" and having to explain how you came to arrive at the Pearly Gates, if you get my meaning. No matter.
Another 25 or so miles up 550, over a highway that is even hairier (probably because the mountain side of the road is sheer), one finds the thriving metropolis of Ouray, quite prettily nestled at the bottom of a huge bowl of terrain. It was there that Galina was headed around noon, in order to visit one of our suppliers, and -- I suspect -- to get out of the house. I had already sent off one of two invoices (the important one) and had not heard from any clients offering weekend work, so I decided to get out of the house, as well. (A good choice it was, too, else Galina might've ended up somewhere in New Mexico or Arizona, but that's another tale.)
Ouray consists, as far as I can tell, of a main street chock full of restaurants, bars, and gift shops. One of the latter featured live alligators as a historical feature (if memory serves); I must admit my curiosity was not so piqued as to actually go see the reptiles. Another gift shop looked like some kind of throwback to the 60s, with incense and tie-dyed clothes and beaded curtains. A third featured what must've been about 50 autobiographical books on life in Colorado in the early days, all penned by women.
Galina and I took dinner in a place that was a hotel and a restaurant. If we don't count the air conditioning blowing up from a floor vent, it was not a bad place to eat, and the decor was such as to make me think that Wyatt Earp just might come through the front door, spurs jangling, and ask for a newspaper, or something. While we ate, I tried to imagine what Ouray must've been like back in the late 1940s when Ayn Rand apparently passed through, en route from Hollywood to New York. It's said that Ouray gave her some inspirational ideas with regard to what ended up being "Galt's Gulch" in Atlas Shrugged, though personally, I would have been more likely to think of the Gulch during the drive in from Durango. I imagine much of Ouray has remained unchanged, but can't help but think that there have undoubtedly been some major upheavals in the places where it has changed.
Anyway, we got what it was we came to get, ate dinner, and lit out for home, since a steady rain made it very awkward to walk around much. I slept most of the way back to Pagosa.
Cheers...
Another 25 or so miles up 550, over a highway that is even hairier (probably because the mountain side of the road is sheer), one finds the thriving metropolis of Ouray, quite prettily nestled at the bottom of a huge bowl of terrain. It was there that Galina was headed around noon, in order to visit one of our suppliers, and -- I suspect -- to get out of the house. I had already sent off one of two invoices (the important one) and had not heard from any clients offering weekend work, so I decided to get out of the house, as well. (A good choice it was, too, else Galina might've ended up somewhere in New Mexico or Arizona, but that's another tale.)
Ouray consists, as far as I can tell, of a main street chock full of restaurants, bars, and gift shops. One of the latter featured live alligators as a historical feature (if memory serves); I must admit my curiosity was not so piqued as to actually go see the reptiles. Another gift shop looked like some kind of throwback to the 60s, with incense and tie-dyed clothes and beaded curtains. A third featured what must've been about 50 autobiographical books on life in Colorado in the early days, all penned by women.
Galina and I took dinner in a place that was a hotel and a restaurant. If we don't count the air conditioning blowing up from a floor vent, it was not a bad place to eat, and the decor was such as to make me think that Wyatt Earp just might come through the front door, spurs jangling, and ask for a newspaper, or something. While we ate, I tried to imagine what Ouray must've been like back in the late 1940s when Ayn Rand apparently passed through, en route from Hollywood to New York. It's said that Ouray gave her some inspirational ideas with regard to what ended up being "Galt's Gulch" in Atlas Shrugged, though personally, I would have been more likely to think of the Gulch during the drive in from Durango. I imagine much of Ouray has remained unchanged, but can't help but think that there have undoubtedly been some major upheavals in the places where it has changed.
Anyway, we got what it was we came to get, ate dinner, and lit out for home, since a steady rain made it very awkward to walk around much. I slept most of the way back to Pagosa.
Cheers...
