Journey to the Southwest

Plans

This trip began, oddly enough, with a hike on Isle Royale last summer. Denis had bought an annual pass to all of America's national parks, and to justify the cost, we decided to go somewhere else. We'd actually been thinking of going to Machu Picchu in the spring, but unrest broke out there, and that's when the idea of a trip to the southwest came about. Denis, as always, spent a long time meticulously planning our route. He managed to put together a route that included skiing, visits to seven national parks, and, as the icing on the cake (not counting the return trip), a vacation/work trip near the ocean in Texas.

 My proposals were chaotic.    

      - Let's go to Antelope Canyon, the Ch-ovs went there, the photos they showed were completely out of this world!

 - Oh, my kid gave me a report about the pueblo at school, I need to check it out!

- Well, skiing is sacred, of course, let's start with Colorado!

— I've been wanting to see the bat flight in Carlsbad Caverns for a long time. Maybe we should go there?

And so, early on a clear morning on April 1st, we set off. Michigan and Illinois flew by quickly. Then the Great Plains stretched out. Driving across the plains was boring: steppe and steppe all around. Fields, fields, and pig farms. Even the Mississippi, which we crossed somewhere on the Iowa border, seemed like a mediocre river. Only in Nebraska, at sunset, did flocks of migratory birds, large and small, suddenly appear. Against the crimson sun, hundreds of flocks and flocks flew from somewhere in the south. Denis and I exchanged glances: "Look, good people, they're heading home. And where are you and I going?"»

We spent the night in Nebraska, arrived in Colorado by midday, and met up with friends. It was warm and windy, like spring. We met at the Wild Animal Sanctuary, looked at the animals, and then headed off to the next part of the cultural program. As always, there was little time to spend with friends. We vowed that next time we would definitely stay for a few days.

By ten o'clock the next morning we found ourselves in the ski town of Winter Park.

Alpine skiing. Winter Park 

Alpine skiing is my great love. I love watching the motley crowd of skiers and snowboarders. They simply emanate freshness, joy, and a desire to move. I see them as brothers. They, too, aren't afraid of the cold. They, too, enjoy the speed, the wind in their faces, and the slight sensation of danger.

This time we had the opportunity to ride in both spring and winter mode.

Skiing in April can even lead to sunburn from the harsh mountain UV rays; there have been cases before. Luckily, we had brought three sunscreens this time. One of them came in handy right away because the day was clear. But there's still plenty of snow in these parts, even in April. The only sign of spring is the warm sun. On the first day of skiing, unless you're a native mountaineer, your body always acclimatizes in the high mountains: shortness of breath, headache, mild nausea. This can usually be alleviated with painkillers. And the generally cheerful atmosphere of the ski resort encourages you to ignore such trifles. By the second day, everything usually passes. This day of our skiing was truly wintry. The temperature dropped, and it started snowing. It's good that we had warm mittens and sweaters. On a snowy day, the contours of the slope aren't very visible. Since the eyes can't see, the body doesn't always understand the best way to ski. You have to go at random.

With this kind of skiing, your leg muscles tire quickly. But we rested, warming ourselves with hot tea, and then, a couple of hours later, with hot soup—and the snowfall was nothing to us.

By the morning of the third day, the slopes were covered in fluffy snow, and the sky had turned blue. A bearded man on the lift loudly and joyfully admired the snow conditions, telling us that these parts offered the best tree skiing. That's when you ski through fresh snow and between fir trees, preferably at speed. We decided we had to give it a try.

 Fine, dry, fresh snow is like powder. There's even a term for it: "powder." Skiers and snowboarders especially love it. It's a different kind of skiing technique. You glide along the soft snow, sinking slightly into the featherbed, pulling a light white cloud behind you. Your feet feel like they're stuck in the fresh snow, and you have to steer them more carefully. And we need to be especially careful, because we'll need our feet for the rest of the journey, and everything else. 

Even though we skied carefully, we really enjoyed tree skiing. If our legs are still healthy by next ski season, we'll give it another try.

  Well, we'd just gotten the hang of it—and it was time to leave. But the next morning, warm jackets, hats, mittens, and ski boots were tucked under the seats, and the skis were stowed in their bags. They'd served their purpose. Where we were going, it had to be warmer. 

Mesa Verde

We drove through Colorado all day.

Two passes and snow-covered gorges still made us doubt whether spring ever really happened here. Then we entered a valley that grew wider and wider. Finally, the mountains parted enough for us to admire them while driving along the arrow-straight road. Down in the valley, there was almost no snow left, but it shone white on the mountains to the right and left.

We arrived at the campsite late in the afternoon, with plenty of time left to begin exploring the Mesa.

Mesa is a Spanish borrowing meaning "table mountain." Park  Mesa Verde marked the beginning of a series of national parks we planned to visit. Here, or even a little earlier, begins the land of canyons. In these lands, the ancient Indians built their strange dwellings. The Pueblo people would first find a large natural cave and then begin adding one structure after another to it, creating something resembling multi-level swallows' nests. The exit was located on the roof. And to move up and down the settlement, they used a system of ladders and ropes. They lived like this for several centuries, and then suddenly abandoned everything and migrated south. An analogy with the Arkaim settlement suggests itself. Why did they leave? What was missing for them to be happy? Did they use up all the natural resources they had been exploiting for so long? There is much incomprehensible in this story. 

Mesa Verde  It can also be translated as "green table" or "green upland." This is understandable, because there should be much more greenery in the northern part of the Mesa. But when we arrived at the park, the northern slopes were still covered in deep snow, while the southern ones were already clear, ready for the arrival of spring. Meltwater drags rocks and landslides. We had the opportunity to see one such landslide, slowly rolling toward the road. In dangerous areas, there are warning signs: "Do not stop here!" and "Do not park!" It's difficult not to stop because the slanting rays of the setting sun make every turn in the road picturesque, and there are many. I'm driving, and Denis is armed with a camera, capturing the moments. 

The next morning, we went back to the park to see what we hadn't seen the day before. To warm up, we ran down a canyon, up and down a trail. Then we drove along a road leading to the park's points of interest. Pueblos were built not only on cliffs but also on flat ground. At first, the dwellings were very primitive, like dugouts. Later, they began using stone, but the shape remained circular, with high earthen benches around the diameter. The hearth was located in the center, and they used a smoke stove. A ventilated storage room, attached to the living space, was a must. A common element in both cave and plains pueblos is an overhead exit. Thus, each house resembled a small fortress. Most often, even on the plains, dwellings were attached to each other, creating a kind of fortified settlement. This is how people lived for many centuries. By that time, Greek and Roman civilizations had flourished and declined in Europe, the Middle Ages had arrived, and the Pueblos lived without much change: they cultivated cornfields, hunted, and built their simple homes. I wonder if they would still be living in this pastoral world if it hadn't been for the conquest? But what kind of pastoral world could it be, with so many hostile tribes all around? They built fortified houses for a reason. The path of civilization is one of continuous enslavement, and if one civilization ends with another, so too. And the conquistadors did bring progress. True, they didn't ask whether the Indians needed this progress. Might is right. And might is the more civilized. Have you noticed that in our civilized society, this principle still applies today?