National Mining Hall of Fame and Museum

Leadville pride

Despite its AAA "Gem" rating, the National Mining Hall of Fame and Museum couldn't quite top "get another hour or two of sleep" on Scott's list of "Things to Do While Road-Tripping Across the United States." Patrick and I, on the other hand, were standing in front of the Victorian building when it opened at 9 a.m. In hindsight, this was really quite an extraordinary feat, since it had required me to successfully roust Patrick by 8 a.m., and Patrick (who was slightly the worse for wear, due to the altitude) to refrain from strangling me as I skipped across the parking lot to the car, exclaiming about the gorgeous morning view of snow-capped mountains.

Originally, I had envisioned us exhausting rather quickly the entire range of mining exhibits and memorabilia that the place offered. This was before we spent over an hour reading the bios in the Mining Hall of Fame. The people featured form a surprisingly diverse group, from calculating businessmen to industry-changing inventors to the kid who started a gold rush by finding a 17-lb nugget. There were a lot of familiar names as well, since such families as Guggenheim, Heinz and Hearst all had their starts in the mining industry. Finally, we tore ourselves away, leaving unread more than half the biographies (which, incidentally, generally did a good job of highlighting the accomplishments of the inductees without indiscriminately deifying them), just so we'd be able to take a look at the museum before hitting the road. (We had a schedule to keep, after all.)

In addition to the historical materials on display, the museum also features life-sized replicas of different types of mines (which would conjure the appropriate claustrophobic atmosphere, if not for the light pouring in from the neighboring exhibits), as well as a collection of impressive gold nuggets. Then there was the "Magic Room of Industrial Minerals," whose explanations about modern uses for different elements seemed quite logical and scientific (suggesting to me that it must have been named by a communications major). Nevertheless, it did help to answer such questions as, "Why would anyone want to mine Molybdenum, anyway?" (which Patrick had asked about two minutes earlier). Finally, after we had been sufficiently awed by the crystal room (filled with specimens of all shapes and colors, including some that were astoundingly large), we wrapped up our visit to the Mining Museum and to Leadville, and headed for the interstate.

Back on I-70 (into which I-76 had dead-ended back in Denver, for those who are keeping track of such things), we enjoyed a very scenic drive through the rest of Colorado, which progressed from being mountainous (with occasional glimpses of the Colorado River) to being desert before our eyes:

Near the border, we stopped in Grand Junction to see their art museum, which was currently showing an exhibit of its students' work in place of most of its permanent collection. Rather than being disappointing, though, it was both impressive (to see the new talent being showcased) and refreshing (to see the reasonable price tags). There was only one small section of finger-paint-esque still lifes in ridiculously wide and ornate frames; these provided a stark contrast to some truly amazing watercolors.

Grand Junction corner art

Patrick's favorite road sign

At the Colorado National Monument

Landscape Arch by moonlight

Downtown Grand Junction is really just a satellite location for the museum, since there's a sculpture on nearly every corner - literally. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to tarry much, or to explore the many little shops along the main drag, so it's definitely a place to go back to someday.

Also in the Grand Junction area is the Colorado National Monument. Apparently, this is “monument” not in the “memorial stone or a building erected in remembrance of a person or event” sense, but rather in the “lasting evidence, reminder, or example of someone or something notable or great” sense. Thus, I – who had been expecting an elaborate, towering statue – was surprised when we found ourselves at the entrance to a park.

Turns out, it's a rather expensive park, at that. So Patrick and I took pictures outside of it (so be honest, the most scenic vistas didn't seem to be in the direction of the monument anyway), blatantly ignoring a fence that had obviously been blatantly ignored by many others before us, then continued on our way.

We stopped at the Utah border to take pictures of me climbing the welcome sign, then proceeded into the state as Patrick commenced lambasting it (due to its Mormon affilition). He did, however, pause in his diatribe to be fascinated by the fact that there's a special speed limit for dust storms.

We arrived at Arches National Park in time for us to marvel a bit before the sun set, and for me to spider up a crevice. We only got to see two arches by daylight (Tunnel Arch and Pine Tree Arch), and then enjoyed a third (Landscape Arch) by the light of the moon (when it peeped out briefly from behind the clouds, as I was waiting, camera in hand, for it to do). The moon then hid again, so it was quite dark as we retraced the trail back to the car. It made for a very isolated atmosphere - and peaceful, with the possible exception of the split second when I mistook the sound of a distant airplane for a growling coming from the bushes ahead.

Finally emerging from Arches, we were determined to go further before stopping for the night. So we gassed up, filled our iced tea reserves, and proceeded to cross the "barren desert of no services" (a 100-mile stretch of I-70 that runs through a couple parks and/or reservations), bringing us almost to our turn-off for the Grand Canyon.

Deciding to halt here, we pulled up to a AAA motel, only to see a sign on the door saying that it was filled for the night. So we tried the place next door, where the young man who answered the buzzer made the mistake of asking us if we were looking for a room. After answering "yes" and as he was making his way around to let us in, I contradicted myself to Patrick, "No, we're solicitors . . . at 2 a.m.," to which Patrick replied, "Actually, we're Jehovah's Witnesses."

As it turned out, this place required cash since their credit card machine was down, so we continued on in search of an ATM or alternate lodging. The next two or three places we tried, however, were also booked. At this point, we were becoming a bit perplexed, to say the least. Then, as we turned away from the most recent "Sorry, we're full" sign, a woman informed us of the reason for the crowding: the Mormons nearby were having a pageant.

Patrick exclaimed, "Why didn't I think to blame the Mormons?" and began planning his own pageant. "Can I be Joseph? The dragon [my stuffed animal] can be Mary. And there's no room for us at the inns!" I decided not to comment on the proceedings, or on the fact that I had (by process of elimination) just been assigned the part of the Christ child.

Fortunately, we found a room at the Quality Inn soon after, thereby avoiding substandard accommodations and ruining Patrick's dramatization.