But of course we took more pictures than we could fit into this journal. The "extra" shots can be found in the gallery.

Lehman Caves, Great Basin NP, Nevada

Long time ago, we had fallen out of love with Prospector Casino in Ely, when they replaced a classic American diner by a Mexican one. This time, however, we had not managed to get any other accommodation, and thus we returned to the wretched Prospector. Having had an excellent lunch in Carson City's obscure Thai Thai, located in a practically deserted downtown shopping mall — and then having topped it off by almost four hundred miles drive through a desert, where our only diversion was a tiny herd of wild horses — we had voted, to the great joy of our kids, that we would only have ice cream for dinner. The hotel also offers a swimming pool, which gave us an opportunity to stretch after those six hours sitting in the car. Besides ice cream, the children were delighted by a promotional rubber duck they had found in our bathroom — more so after discovering we could keep it. Sometimes their looming puberty seems rather distant to me, only to sneakily come back attacking again at an inopportune moment.

The limestone straw sports a water duct.

On Tuesday morning we packed the duck and all the other stuff, and drove out to Great Basin NP, to see the caves. A ranger first made faces about not having any openings, but then he said that actually, somebody had cancelled, and we would have only twenty minutes to get ready. It seemed an incredible luck to us — twenty mintues was exactly enough to get dressed properly for the temperature drop by almost forty degrees — and on we went. The guide was new, so we could cue her in at places now — Lehman Caves are our favorite spot and we had been here several times. Lisa pushed forward and kept entertaining the guide and other tourists with her ideas to name rock formations.

Touring the Bachelor - Syracuse silver mine.

After getting refreshed in the caves, the heat outside waited to beat on us again, as temperatures around Ely hovered in the nineties, but when we bit through out daily ration of four hundred miles farther east, deserts reinforced their impact with above-hundred heat. Moab, Utah, our stop for the day, looked like an old western movie town. Even by six in the evening it was still hot, and a strong, gusty wind chased billows of red dust down the empty streets. Our dinner at the local brewery was thus naturally enhanced by a thorough refreshment — we had afforded ourselves beer, while the children got gelato — Lisa had ordered pomegranate flavor, Tom picked apple with caramel. The kids spotted another incredible toy at the hotel room — a folding door to the closet, which they mentally transformed into street car door, closing each other in the closet. Such a silly thing, so much joy!

Enthusiasts eagerly pan for gold in the mine brook.

We had originally thought that we could at least visit Dead Horse Point near Moab, but the combination of heat and wind-driven dust stinging in the eyes, just during our crossing from the hotel lobby to our car, had urged us away. We reckoned that the sooner we reach real mountains, the better. It's only hundred and fifty miles from Moab to Ouray, Colorado, and thus we had arrived at our next hotel by three in the afternoon, permitting for a short stop at a viewpoint to Mt. Sneffels. By then, it was raining cats and dogs, and when the receptionist assured us that the mine was open till four o'clock, we embarked on another inspection of the underground — with the difference that we got chased into the Nevada caves by heat, while here it was rain. San Juan Mountains around Ouray are famous for mining of precious metals, only the town names seem to have gotten out of hand. They mined silver in In Gold Mountain, which we were touring, and gold had been excavated in the nearby Silverton. Once we got out of the mine again to the surface, we found the sun shining, and we proceeded to try panning for gold in the nearby brook. Kids were issued small vials for their possible bounties, and they had spent the subsequent hour looking for precious metals, until we had to lure them away under the guise of supper.

Thursday was our relaxing day — a first such one without having to pack and rush away; to the contrary, we wanted to enjoy the benefits of Ouray. A look at the weather forecast had made it clear that we should finish our outdoors program before noon. Ouray is set up predominantly to off-road vehicle trips; for that we feel our kids were still too small — it's probably not much fun sitting in the claustrophobic back seat of a rattling and swiveling jeep. We did not feel like paying for a view to a waterfall, and our eventual choice fell on Bear Creek Trail. The path begins at eight and half thousand feet, and our tentative destination, Grizzly Bear Mine, lays just below ten thousand; naturally, the trail continues on many miles into the mountains. With an elevation gain of about fifteen hundred feet and a threat of afternoon thunderstorms, we gathered that those four miles would be more than enough.

Bear Creek National Recreational Trail had to be blasted into the living rock of the cliffs.

First showers caught us in the initial switchbacks, but then I managed to convince even my Hippo to keep going on. And it was the right choice; boring march through scree turned into much exposed balancing on the edge of a trail blasted into the cliff side. We had taken our children to many places, but National Parks often equip the scarier sections with hand rails, or at least chains. There were no such aids here. The path is wide and safe enough, but some views of the deep canyon of the creek below made even me feel queasy. Tom is a bit scared of heights, and we had to encourage him a lot and motivate him, but he managed eventually.

Bear Creek canyon, Mt. Sneffels in the background.

In the end we did not go all the way to Grizzly Bear Mine; we gave it up a bit earlier. The path was disappearing again in a boring forest, but mostly because very nasty clouds began gathering over the mountains, and we reckoned it was time for a retreat. It's interesting that although we necessarily took the same way back down, with the same views, both Tom and I felt much better. Also surprising was the number of people we were suddenly encountering. I don't follow the logic by which someone sets out on a mountain trail near ten thousand feet elevation, at noon, when regularly and according the acute forecast thunderstorms start. We had reached our car with the first rain drops, subsequently went shopping in the town during a full downpour, and the true storm came when we were already nicely huddled in our hotel room, over our playing cards and books.

By merging of Bear and Red Mountain Creeks, Uncompaghre River begins, accompanied by a Million Dollar Highway between Ouray and Silverton.

When the weather got better toward the evening, we packed our swim-suits and tested the local thermal baths. Springs here contain no sulfur, hence the baths do not smell. The hottest section was about 100 degrees, and I managed to stay in there for only a few minutes. A large pool with a slide and bouncy gym for kids had a much lower temperature; the children went incredibly crazy in there, while Hippo and I lingered luxuriously in a pleasant, middle-of-the-road section. Entrance fee is rather steep, but on the other hand they keep it clean and civilized. When we felt sufficiently soaked, it began to drizzle again, just in time to leave to a dry place for dinner.

Deep below us is the mining town of Ouray.

We had originally considered to stay in Ouray till Saturday, but the forecast for Friday promised an all-day rain, thus we checked out of the hotel, stopped at the local mining supply store, purchased a gold-panning set for the kids — and set out for another leg of our journey. It was the Black Canyon of Gunnison, where one more or less drives about from one view point to the next. The canyon got its spooky name because it's very narrow and deep, with some spots getting only half an hour of sunshine per day. Grand Canyon is much deeper, but Gunnison River is faster than Colorado, and Black Canyon rocks are harder than Grand Canyon sandstones. The official discoverer of the stream named it Grand River (apparently to avoid confusion), but when a year later he got killed by Ute Indians, the river got re-named in his memory.

The Black Canyon of Gunnison is, combined with this weather, quite spooky.

The canyon remains hard to access till today, and the river is only partially navigable. For us, however, difficulties ensued upon entering the visitor center, and our focus got somewhat diverted from the history and natural significance of the geological formation. Lisa had discovered a plush stuffed big horn sheep, instigating a one-hour family feud over a purchase approval of said animal, which we never had a chance to win. And thus Sierra had joined us for the rest of our journey.

Gunnison Canyon appears from the edge as a torn maze of mostly vertical rock walls.

A small town of Salida truly appeared like a little-known western movie stop-on-the-road, but we had noticed a THAI sign at an intersection and tried, what Thai food looks like in the Wild West. Well, it was warm and very authentic, including tea from a large canteen and such. While looking for anything interesting we'd be able to do on the next leg of our journey, we spotted rafting and a aerial adventure park. Rafts got immediately dismissed — a difficult river, guide must ride along, wearing neoprene, in a cold weather and thunderstorms. It seemed to belong in the category of experiences mostly intense, rather than enjoyable. Lisa, naturally, longed much to go to the adventure park, and thus we paid for both children's amusement. I was a bit nervous on Tom's behalf, for he does not suffer heights lightly, but he proved himself able to jump on a trapeze and let them winch him down more or less without much ado, while Lisa performed a first class tantrum, eventually jumping off amongst cheers of the crowd.

Family had voted for a cooked lunch, and we thought mildly naively that we would find it in another small town, Buena Vista (the locals had allegedly voted for the name to be pronounced b'yoona rather than the original Spanish booehnna). At least half of Colorado had to have planned to do lunch there on their way from Denver to the Monarch Pass, and though the local brewery looked very inviting, we could not find a place to park or place to sit down. Eventually we found another, much less crowded, Chinese restaurant Jade Garden across the street. Although we don't usually seek out continental Chinese food, this one was good, the place clean, and service nice and fast.

Expensive, yet very well executed wire maze above the Arkansas River near Buena Vista, CO.

Tom and Lisa each took a different route, converging from time to time.

Subsequently, we felt much better while biting off the remaining miles to Estes Park, where we had a promised accommodation at a friend's place. Karel's approach is fascinating not because of his inviting four people to his home, but by doing so while he himself would not be there. And he would arrange with a neighbor to leave the door UNLOCKED for us. I have absolutely no idea how and when we can ever return such favor — at the peak of the season we had available a HOUSE only a few miles away from the entrance of the third most visited national park in the USA. After spending a week on a heap in tight hotel rooms, we could close doors between us — i.e. the kids could sleep and we could talk, or kids play cards and we could sleep — as we felt like in the moment.

Sid said that now that we were in Colorado, he wanted steak for dinner — having been the other day on a business trip in nearby Longmont and remembering those steaks ever since. Thus we hopped in the car and naively headed down town. After five minutes we felt overwhelmed by a total shopping overload, not being able to move much for the crowds, and not succeeding in spotting a single attractive dinner place among all those souvenirs and marked-up sports gear. We turned around and headed out of the town, away from the park entrance. There we found a completely deserted restaurant named Mountain Strong, and we proceeded to test it. When they brought us food, I realized why Hippo had insisted on Colorado steak — Lisa devoured half of his, and demanded to come here again the next day and order one of HER OWN.