View allAll Photos Tagged manitou
Not sure why but I found the back of this building more interesting than the front.
Manitou Springs, CO
Pentax 6x7, 105mm
Two Metro-North FL9s lead an outbound commuter train at Manitou, NY. A portion of the Bear Mountain Bridge is visible in the background.
Heavy duty forklift truck at Loch Langavat fish farm, Isle of Harris. From the same session as the Net washers pic.
Blue remotely fired strobe in the cab, natural LED on the lights and rear axle. Full moon, 1½ minutes.
Looks better in W I D E S C R E E N !
Part of my Night Photography set
----------------------------------------------------------------------
--Visit My Profile--
Links to:
The Flying Monk Website
The Flying Monk Blog
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
I wanted to re-process this photo I took back in 2001. For years, I had dreamed of paddling from the mainland to South Manitou Island (Lake Michigan), but first, I had to build the kayak, and spend a few years developing my skills. I took this photo right as I reached the shores of South Manitou, a moment that will always be one of the best memories of my life.
The crossing from Glen Haven takes about 2 hours and 15 minutes (a little faster if you cheat with a sail.....thanks for sewing the sail Mom! ).
The crown jewel of South Manitou island is an abandoned lighthouse. On the day of our crossing, the tall, white tower was visible from the mainland. This made navigation easy.
Distance: 7.8 miles
Compass Heading: 340 degrees (Glen Haven to Lighthouse)
Lighthouse GPS coordinates: N45d 0.447m, W86d 5.624m
Here is a useful link for finding weather conditions. Buoy 45002 is the closest to the Manitou Islands.
www.ndbc.noaa.gov/maps/WestGL.shtml
Here is a useful link for the Lake Michigan Offshore Weather Synopsis.
Manitou is one of the few flag stops on Metro-North. Only really being used by hikers visiting the Hudson Highlands.
Here, the station sits empty. With it being just before midnight, the two scheduled peak stops have already occurred for the day.
North and South Manitou Islands bask on the horizon under a moonless canopy of stars. The brightness on the left is reflecting off Jupiter and Venus.
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
For Station Saturday here is a look at one of the oddest commuter rail stops around, which seems to be from another era more akin to a tiny country depot on a branchline before WWI rather than along one of the busiest commuter routes in the country. The tiny low level platform and little wooden shelter (that one source claims dates to NYC days) serves a few dozen passengers on weekends with only 6 northbound and 7 southbound trains presently stopping on Saturdays and Sundays only with no weekday service. Like the Breakneck Ridge stop, this 'station' exists to serve hikers and outdoor enthusiasts escaping the city on the weekend for the Hudson Highlands and is the closest stop providing access to the Appalachian Trail which crosses the river on the Bear Mountain Bridge just south of here.
Metro North train 8836 has paused briefly to pick up two passengers and will soon accelerate away southbound on Main 2 here at MP 46 on modern day Metro North Railroad's Hudson Line, the one time New York Central water level route mainline.
Manitou Station
Phillipstown, New York
Saturday August 3, 2024
© 2009 Paul L. Csizmadia All Rights Reserved No Use Allowed without Permission
110 ft. long with 2,200 h.p. the tug 'Manitou' along the Black River in Lorain, Ohio escorted by a few local gulls.
Built as an ice breaking tug for the U.S. Coast Guard, the 'Manitou' (WYT-60) was commissioned in 1943 as a member of the 'Apalachee' class of Coast Guard tugs which added additional ice resistance and ice breaking features (for their intended duty in the Greenland Theater). An overview of her Coast Guard Service History can be found at www.uscg.mil/History/webcutters/Manitou_1943.pdf
She was acquired by Malcom Marine Inc. - St. Clair, MI in 1984 and rebuilt over a course of 5 years including the replacement of her original 1,000 h.p. engine with a 2,200 h.p. engine.
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.
© This photograph is copyrighted. Under no circumstances can it be reproduced, distributed, modified, copied, posted to websites or printed or published in media or other medium or used for commercial or other uses without the prior written consent and permission of the photographer.
View of South Manitou from North Manitou. Canon A-1 28mm f2.8 Ektachrome 100 expired in 1999. Developed E-6 using hand agitation and poor temp control. Some emulsion abnormalities and chemical burns.
On the last day of my backpacking trip to South Manitou Island, the boat departed for the mainland at 4:00. This left the after noon to walk the beach, and enjoy the Lake Michigan shoreline.
August 26
And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.
Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.
I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall aprt and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.
And it did.
Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.
Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.
We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.
Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.
They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.
We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.
From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of f the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.
Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.
The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.
After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.
The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform fo the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.
Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.
Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.
Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.
Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.
Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way.
Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.
We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.
There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average?
Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.
Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.
It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.
Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.
Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.
Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.
And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.