Denver, Colorado isn’t known as the mile-high city for nothing; it sits 1500 meters above sea level. Yet it was merely the starting point of an epic journey that involved steam trains, cable cars, and that uniquely capable offroad vehicle called the Jeep. Two Jeeps actually: the quintessential Jeep, called the Wrangler; and the luxury SUV model, called the Grand Cherokee.
But first, we spent a couple of days at the historic town of Durango. Four hours from the nearest Interstate highway, it’s the very picture of an ‘Old West’ town. As such, it’s been used as the setting for many Western movies, including “How the West was Won,” “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” and even “Around the World in “Eighty Days” and “City Slickers.” We stayed at the historic Strater Hotel, built in 1888. It’s where Louis L’Amour stays to write his Westerns. As might be expected from a tourist town, good food is easy to find, from tacos to pizzas, to the guilty pleasures of the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Company.
Journeying from Durango to the next venue, Silverton, involved riding a meticulously restored, coal-fueled steam train. Crossing jaw-dropping scenery that combines soaring mountains with raging rivers a hundred meters below the track, the experience of staying in an open car is worth getting a lungful of soot from the engines from time to time.
Awaiting us at the end of the tracks was the even-more Western-movie like town of Silverton, an mining community turned tourist area. Parked in front of a saloon called the Shady Lady (formerly a brothel, naturally) were the Wranglers, in two-door and four-door guise, and various variants of Grand Cherokee. We climbed into a Grand Cherokee with Singaporean motoring writer David Khoo and Fiat-Chrysler marketing professional Pernilla Ding. The Grand Cherokee seemed to be the ideal car for the initial segment, which involved smoothly-paved sections of curving highway. But this was only for a few minutes, as the convoy dove steeply off the tarmac and into the brush.
The journey on the gravel and dirt roads had us climbing from below 2000 meters to 3400 meters. Both Jeeps proved more than capable. The Wranglers featured high ground clearance and were not even challenged on the course. The Grand Cherokee we were driving was a pleasant surprise, as it too, was comfortable tackling the rough terrain. The sophisticated all-wheel drive system made it well impossible to trip up, and the plush ride even when traversing boulder-strewn trails was amazing.
The ascent up Ouray’s Red Mountain was the highlight of the afternoon, at 3900 meters. Breathing is palpably more difficult at this altitude, where we were literally at cloud level. The Wranglers alone made the climb, as the trail was too narrow for the Grand Cherokee.
The end of the day had us camping at the foot of the mountains. Being in a tent (considerately erected for us already) brought me back to high school camping days, only that one was in warm Bulacan. The overnight temperature in Ouray soon plunged to near-freezing. We only had a light jacket and jeans, and a hot-water bottle to keep us from turning into a popsicle. Alas, I didn’t bring any vodka, and campfires weren’t allowed. I was about to dash for a Jeep and its all-important heater, just before mercifully falling asleep.
The next day brought some warm sunshine, and a heart-thawing breakfast. Soon we were in a Wrangler, ready to take on another trail. The scenery was even more astounding than on the previous day. Abandoned mines and ghost towns loomed every few kilometers. This was Imogene Pass, the highest in the San Juan mountain range, and the second highest in the United States. Looking down beyond the edge of our trail was like peering through the window of an airplane.
The trail was decidedly steeper and narrower than the previous day’s. I gave myself and Mr. Khoo a mild heart attack when I let the left rear wheel of the Wrangler slip off the trail. A five-hundred meter plunge was just a split-second away. Thankfully, we were in four-wheel drive low range, and a boot on the accelerator commanded the Jeep to pull us back on the trail.
Suddenly, the majestic and dangerous Tomboy Trail ended and we were in a small town. A very well-heeled small town, with homeowners named Winfrey and Cruise. This was apparently a very popular ski resort among the billionaire set. Now, during summer, it was sparsely populated and ideal for a pleasant afternoon of doing nothing very urgent. On the lakeside, we viewed some of the concept vehicles built on the design heritage of the Jeep brand, including a towering truck and a old-school body built on top of a modern chassis and drivetrain. Bikes and hiking were the preferred recreation of the area, but we contented ourselves with walking and a hearty dinner. In a warm hotel room that night, we reflected on how, having been in freezing weather the previous night, and nearly falling off a cliff just hours before, we felt the wonder of being mortal—and of living to tell the tale.
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