A Foreword It has been a long time since such words have appeared here. It has been a long time since the words have been there for me to write. This piece, "Uncle Riley Does Denver", is not my first; in fact, it is a return to my roots in a way of speaking. Years ago, when we were all much younger, I wrote "The Invasion of the Dunwoody Housewives". A trashy piece, it appeared on a small Atlanta computer bulletin board system. It was an effort that allowed me to forget a broken love affair. I won't dwell on detail, but this morality tale involved several women who were trying to corner the local supply of Izod shirts. "Housewives" also made the startling revelation that a local shopping center was going to meet this threat with a small nuclear device, using an A&P shopping cart as a delivery system. As I said, we all were younger then. From there, I wrote a piece on Birmingham, concurrent with the NMRA convention there. In part, I was working off the frustration of the whole experience, with special attention directed toward the convention hotel This hotel was described as "..lacking only gas pumps out front and rows of eighteen wheeled tractor trailers to complete the sordid ambiance of this dump of a hotel..." From there, it got a bit worse, as I wove local railroad color into some of the more amusing events of the convention. After that, Houston got its turn at bat, and I began to realize that not only was I enjoying the Houston convention, but I also was enjoying writing about what happened along the way. One of the highlights of the Houston convention was that it occurred simultaneously with a dog show. At one point, I will admit to being down on the floor of the hotel bar doing my best University of Georgia bulldog bark while the dog show people stared with a combination of shock and indignation. As I said, we all were younger then. Then came Pittsburgh, which I consider to be a high water mark in my convention experiences. A truly class convention, in a classy city And after that, a self-imposed silence. The reason for my silence was a bit personal, and not really of your concern anyway. I will say that marriage is probably the best thing that ever happened to me after I found out about trains. What is important here is that I miss this sort of writing. There is no money in it, but there is a sort of thrill in doing something simply for the sake of doing it. Certainly, the audience here is now bigger than it used to be, but, still in all, this is simply done for the thrill of things. To be sure, I am a bit older, but at 45, I still am capable of juvenile and amusing things. It has been said that: "You are only young once, but you can be immature practically forever". Rather, I prefer: "What used to be college pranks are now felonies". So, in that context, things will be a bit slower than in the previous sagas. No lobster races in the Vista Hotel lobby. No maid's cart races down the halls. No furniture thrown out of windows. But I'll make it up to you. It should be interesting...... Uncle Riley Does Denver The events reported here cover a trip of about eleven days. My primary purpose was to attend the Garden Railway Convention in Denver, but I also was able to do other things. The events reported here did not necessarily occur in the order presented in this piece, but everything else is true. A few names have been changed to protect the guilty, but, then, you expected that. I should note that my father's family originally came from Colorado, and I have a particular affection for this state. But beyond that, you should know that Colorado is really quite something all by itself. The scenery is spectacular and, as you probably know, the railroads there are, and were, great. In the world scope of things, the railroad has expressed itself in a variety of ways. From the wide gauge of Russia to the very narrow gauge of Romney, Hythe, and Dymchurch, there is much to be fascinated with. Over the years, Colorado has earned a reputation for railroading greatness, both in the scope of style, and in the range of type. That is, Colorado railroads range from heavily traveled main lines running along the front range of the Rocky Mountains, to a huge narrow gauged railroad system, to little obscure lines that lived and died quietly. To be sure, there are no four track main lines with position light signals and GG-1's. Neither are there high speed Shinkanshen nor ICE trains, but there is much to report about Colorado railroads, both present day operations and lines which are long gone. This piece can only cover a tiny bit. A quick look at the books that have been printed about Colorado railroads will give you a clue to their appeal and interest. There is much to see and study. Colorado has been a railroad enthusiast's paradise for many years. In the 1940's and 1950's, Linn Westcott, A.C. Kalmbach, and David P. Morgan were drawn there. So, too were Lucius Beebe and Charles Clegg. Photographers such as Otto Perry, Richard Kindig, William Henry Jackson, and Richard Steinheimer came too, for there was much to see there with things railroad. The state has produced writers who were able to recount the railroad adventure of Colorado; M. C. Poor, Richard Ormes, and Forest Crossen are but a very few examples. To mention the few is to risk not crediting the many talented people who have covered Colorado. In short, Colorado deserves its reputation for railroading interest. I will not proclaim it to be the railroad center of the universe, but this state must be on the short list of possible candidates. But enough of the local puffery. **** I live in Atlanta, and going to Colorado means a plane ride. My tolerance level for plane rides is about two hours, and ATL-DEN is more than three hours worth of being cooped up in, as Lucius Beebe once put it: "...a hell-bound cartridge of death..", but then, Beebe didn't ever fly. Not that he didn't try once..... In any case, the flight is typical Spam-in-a-can. You can always tell when you are getting near to Colorado, though, the air gets choppy and turbulent. Somewhere near the state's eastern border, you hit a speed bump at high speed, and the plane shakes and rattles for the last few minutes into Stapleton. As of this writing, the new airport is still not opened, and that will be the topic of frequent news reports throughout my stay in Colorado. The Airport The residents of Denver are now quite weary of the whole thing. Another day, another 3.1 million dollars down the drain. The baggage handling system has already earned world wide recognition. A recent issue of Forbes ASAP details much of what went wrong with this maligned system. To be sure, everybody is at fault, except for the taxpayers. It was decided that this system would be state-of-the-art, and we both know what that can mean. The City of Denver tried one time to gain bids for this system, but drew no interest. On the second try, a bidder was finally induced to come and give it a spin. The usual problems were encountered, along with a few new ones, and you know the balance of the story. Things were not helped when a major airline which uses Denver as a hub chose to eliminate a key segment of their portion of the system, resulting in major redesign while the system was being built. Apparently, the local news media now block off a couple minutes time for each newscast which are devoted to the continuing saga of the Denver airport. As this piece is being written, it is now being reported that the runways are starting to crack. The TV anchors report this latest story with all of the enthusiasm of a hooker working a Shriner's convention, for the story is now getting very stale, and yet revelations still seem to work their way to the surface with distressing regularity. The logo of the airport, viewed in a certain way, appears to be a skycap carrying two bags that has "fallen and can't get up". With all that said, it is helpful to remember that Stapleton Airport has reached the end of its useful life, and truly needs to be replaced. The entrances and exits of this old facility are running far beyond capacity, and the summer travel season has overloaded the airport completely. Airplanes land and take off with relative ease, but everything else is choked and crowded. Cars and buses clog the access areas; traffic moves in fits and starts. So, the new airport is needed, but the whole process has broken down. As a final indignity to the Denver passenger, there is a $2.98 charge per day to rent a car at Stapleton, in addition to all the other fees. This charge, which you only discover at the rental counter, is to pay for constructing the car rental facilities at the new airport. Modern capitalism marches on; make the user pay for the physical plant and let private capital benefit from it. I quickly gather from the rental agent that this extra charge is not a popular one, but it is in keeping with the entire spirit of the new airport, just one more boondoggle. Finally, it should be noted that the road leading to the new airport is called Pe¤a Boulevard, in honor of the mayor who started this whole process. In any case, I gather my rental vehicle and beat as hasty exit from the airport as is possible. I gracefully depart at 2 miles per hour. Denver You can easily see why they built a city here. A river runs through it, there is lots of open space. But you can also understand why many people stopped dead in their tracks here. The pioneers, after months of slow progress across the rolling plains must have been awestruck. To be sure, there had been rivers to cross, and hostile natives to deal with, but after all that flatness, here stood a mountain range the likes of which they had not seen. They must have just stood there in slack jawed wonder. And this was just the front range of mountains to be crossed. These huge mountains were to just be the foothills of the Rockies. You can't blame those who looked around and said: "Hey, this looks like a great place to build a town." Denver has always been a transportation town, a crossroads for those traveling north and south, a jumping off place for those heading west into the mountains. Denver is now a center for banking and petroleum, a home to colleges and universities. Denver is no longer the wild west, but the brooding presence of the mountains is always there. Transportation in Denver, after the airport, is both railroad and highway. In earlier years a large number of railroads converged here, and many of those routes remain to this day. The Santa Fe and Burlington Northern operate joint trackage from Denver to Pueblo, and several of the earlier companies such as the Missouri Pacific are now gone, but the rights of way remain active. In earlier days, the Colorado & Southern and the Denver, South Park, & Pacific took off into the mountains on narrow gauged rails. They are gone now, but evidence of their life remains to this day. Highway traffic in Denver is unpredictable. You will be cruising merrily down the Interstate, off high traffic hours, and abruptly run into a traffic jam. In part, this is due to the continuing need for Colorado roads to be rebuilt and repaired. The Highway Department here spends 1/2 the year clearing snow off the highways, and the other 1/2 fixing the effects of snow and cold. Or so it seems. But traffic here is also subject to unanticipated stoppages. It is obvious that the highway system here, like Stapleton, is running near capacity. So, Denver is building a streetcar line, oh, excuse me, a Light Rail Vehicle System. Suit yourself, to me a streetcar is a streetcar. The equipment is classic LRV. The cars are the articulated-box-on-three-trucks, with square windows, automobile headlights, and pantograph. The cars resemble most other new streetcars, uhhhh, LRV's. Certainly, there is a strong similarity between the Denver cars and Pittsburgh's cars. The overhead is simplified catenary; most of the right of way is on a slightly elevated, concrete paved segment which is part of the street. The system has just begun testing, and notices have been posted to the general public advising that the overhead wires are now activated, and that the tracks are now being used. The public is a bit slow about this, for parked automobiles are still being towed from the LRV rights of way. I personally witness a private citizen flying a kite next to the electrified overhead wires. I cannot say whether this individual was trying to replicate the Benjamin Franklin electricity experiment, or was starting the process of a nice civil liability suit. However, I am not morbid enough to have stopped, pulled out my camera, and documented this fool's activity. In any case, things are still new and novel. The rights of way are clean, the platforms are bright and shiny. The system has a large loop in the downtown district. At one end, the cars turn back at the convention center. At the other end, the loop turns back at the north end of the downtown business district. From the north end, a double track line continues for a few miles to a terminus. Although this line is primarily two track, there is a short single track segment through a narrow part of the street. At the south end of the downtown loop, there is a two track line which runs south past the D&RGW Burnham shops (also the site of the LRV car barn) and terminates a few miles south from there, near a developing shopping area and near Gates Rubber, a local employer. This developing shopping center is also conveniently near Caboose Hobbies, a model railroader's mecca. The Denver LRV system appears to have about 10 cars, but there may be more. Signaling on private rights of way is railroad signal style. At intersections on public streets, the signals are modified street traffic signals, in dark green housings instead of yellow. The signal lights are clear lenses with patterns stenciled on them. "Stop" is a horizontal bar, much in the manner of the Pennsy "Stop" signal, but with one solid shape instead of three color lights. "Go" is a vertical bar, again a solid shape. The warning indication, used when "Go" is changing to "Stop" is a round shape. As "Go" changes, the middle lamp of the signal illuminates the dot shape warning of the change. Then both the warning lamp and the stop lamp are illuminated. Finally, the stop indication remains, and the automobile traffic lamps go into their cycle. To be sure, there are those who criticize the new LRV system. Some note that the cars go from "nowhere to nowhere", but I am not quite so sure. The southern end of the system bodes well for expansion to the southern Denver suburbs. The central loop makes sense, for downtown convention hotels will have easy access to the convention center. A downtown college campus is served, and the central business district seems strong. The northern end of the LRV system does serve what seems to be a depressed neighborhood, but a project such as this has a very difficult time avoiding political considerations. And not every political consideration is a bad one, for the LRV line may very well be the boost that this neighborhood needs to make a decent comeback. So, the Denver LRV system is approaching with good premise, and may well be what the city needs. Nederland No discussion on Denver would be complete without mentioning the altitude. As you enter Denver, you are reminded that the city is 5,280 feet above sea level. And with that altitude come problems for "flatlanders" such as myself. The air here is thin, and gets thinner as you go up into the mountains. The effects are interesting. Your hands get red. Your face gets red. Combined with the closer proximity to the sun, you sunburn easily. Your lips get chapped from the dry air at these altitudes. At one mile altitude, things are just inconvenient. My first full day in Denver, a friend and I decide to go to Boulder, then on to Nederland. At 5350 feet above sea level, Boulder is pretty much like Denver, but as we climb Boulder Canyon, things rapidly change. The rental car, a nice Oldsmobile with large fuel injected engine, begins to get sluggish. Boulder Canyon was the right of way for the 3 foot gauged Denver, Boulder, & Western (nee Colorado & Northwestern) as far as Orodel. From there, the railroad turned up a side canyon and climbed to Salina, Wall Street, and to Sunset. At Sunset, one line continued to the mines at Ward, while another line went to mines at Eldora, passing near Nederland. This railroad was affectionately called "The Switzerland Trail of America", and that's a pretty fair description. Once out of the canyons, the DB&W climbed through beautiful valleys. As we climb Boulder Canyon, the problems caused by the altitude are becoming obvious. The car has turned into a stone with tires. My sinuses are starting to sharply throb. We reach Nederland, at 8230 feet altitude and turn onto a side road to drive to Cardinal, where the DB&W Eldora branch ran. Passing Cardinal, we continue on to the Bluebird mine, which is at about 9400 feet. As we drive up the gravel road, I find myself contemplating the "Car Rental Agreement" that I signed the previous day. I think of that agreement every time we hit a particularly large rock, rocks which seem destined to tear the car's oil pan out with one easy hit. The engine temperature is climbing toward the red zone. My sinuses are climbing toward the red zone, too. How will I explain to the car rental company that they will have to retrieve their vehicle on some wild road far into the Rocky Mountains? And bring me a replacement vehicle, too. At the crest of the hill, the high point of the DB&W, are the remains of the mine. All that is left is the shell of a building, made of stone. Nearby, the mine shaft is covered by a grate. I remember the safety precautions in this situation. The mine shaft itself is not the only dangerous place here. Often, the area around the shaft is also dangerous, for time and water erosion often make the mine "collar" dangerous too. Walking at this altitude, after being in Denver for less than one day, is like swimming in molasses. Everything is in slow motion, and I quickly run out of breath at the simplest exertion. I quietly vow to give up cigars once and for all. We take a few photographs, and head down hill a bit to photograph two active mines. The mines in this area first struck gold, then later found tungsten. Indeed, one DB&W station was called "Wolfram", from wolframite, a tungstate of iron and manganese, and a source of tungsten. It is not clear what these two active mines are working, but there are not present large piles of tailings commonly associated with gold mining. In retrospect, these mines may very well have been going for tungsten. In any case, the front gate sign of one mine advises the public that the miners are working in an ecologically responsible manner. It is a sensitive subject, and this sign will be the first of many such signs that I will see in Colorado and New Mexico. At the moment, mineral mining is like omelet making, eggs must be broken. Much of the DB&W right of way is driveable, in an ordinary automobile, but the road from the Bluebird down to Sunset is "Closed". It might be crossed by a four-wheel drive truck, but large oil-pan-tearing rocks litter the roadway, and we return the way that we came. In driving the grades of these old mountain railroads, it still amazes me that rod locomotives were able to climb such steep inclines. To be sure, the DB&W had a Shay or two, even a three truck Climax, but many of the other locomotives were simple steam locomotives. After the Denver, Boulder, & Western closed in 1919, many of these locomotives found their way to other Colorado narrow gauged railroads. East Portal/Rollinsville After our Rocky Mountain high, we press on to Rollinsville, where the former Denver, Rio Grande, & Western climbs out of Denver and across the Continental Divide. The line originally was the Denver and Salt Lake, then later the D&RGW. Now, Southern Pacific owns the railroad, and the change is a bit obvious. Rollinsville is a wide spot in the road, but does have a post office. The railroad comes up Coal Canyon from Denver, passes Rollinsville, and heads to the East Portal of Moffat Tunnel. A fairly good road leads to the tunnel portal. The map in Ormes' Tracking Ghost Railroads in Colorado shows a wye track at Tolland, but the book's "Map Revision Section" shows the wye to actually have been very near the east portal. Once at the east portal of Moffat Tunnel, we discover that the wye is still there, still used to turn equipment and locomotives. This wye track was the route that D&SL trains originally took prior to the construction of Moffat Tunnel. The tunnel is at 9211 foot altitude, and the D&SL climbed from there to Rollins Pass (11,611 feet). Among other locomotives, the D&SL had some very attractive 2-6-6-0 simple articulateds, very useful for such mountain railroading. The original route seems to be driveable, but we avoid the opportunity to go another 2,000 feet higher than we have already been, at least for this day. There is a parking lot at the east portal, and there are railroad enthusiasts waiting patiently there, but there are no trains. All along the railroad are cheerful white signs with black lettering which advise us that trespassers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Ahhh! "Railfans Welcome!" Each of these cheerful signs used to say "D&RGW", but the railroad name on each sign has been crudely painted over with off-white spray paint. The D&RGW logo has been removed from all bridges, replaced by the Southern Pacific "sun" logo. Clearly, the Southern Pacific is trying to gain control, but this cannot be an easy process for the railroad often called "The Rebel of the Rockies". Boulder Well, Boulder is Boulder, and there isn't much more to be said. This is a unique place. I admit to being prejudiced here, since I have many ties to the town. When I was a child, I got to visit Boulder, and my grandmother, on a regular basis. My parents are buried there, my grandparents are buried there. It is a complicated tale. However, beyond my predilection for Boulder, it is still an interesting town. Home of the University of Colorado, the town is rife with attractive women and handsome men. My traveling companion, a bachelor, becomes quickly transfixed at the variety of pleasant and attractive females that infest the town. Boulder is also the home of the complete bicyclist. Every street seems to have a bicycle lane, and automobile drivers take care when turning, lest they interfere with a bicycle. The town is laid back and comfortable. Downtown, a two block stretch of Pearl Street has been turned into a walking mall. Bookstores and restaurants offer inviting views. Nearby, the Hotel Boulderado remains a magnificent pile of bricks. Inside the lobby, ornate wood railings and furniture have been lovingly preserved. At one corner, an outside restaurant and bar offer sidewalk views of the local flora and fauna as they ride their bicycles. Railroad wise, Boulder once had both the Union Pacific and Burlington railroads call there. There still is freight service by, I believe, the UP. In a downtown park, a former Denver, Boulder, & Western locomotive, and two cars are on display. They have been nicely preserved. I remember in 1959 that some vandal blew up the caboose with explosives; never did hear if they caught the miscreant. In any case, the car was restored and the display is a nice one, a reflection of local pride in their heritage. Beyond that, there isn't much railroading in Boulder. To the east of Boulder, at St. Vrain and at Erie, there is a bit more railroading and, with Ormes in hand, you can find the rights of way of several lines, including the Denver & Intermountain electric lines. The area east of Boulder also has what I believe to be a bit of a geologic oddity. In this area, both coal mines and oil wells worked. To be sure, both were working deposits of hydrocarbons, but I have never seen such operations in such close proximity. There are similar situations in Pennsylvania and in southern Illinois, but, again, not quite so close to each other. The mines east of Boulder are now closed, with only a headframe or two left to show what once was. The wells are still working, though, apparently for both oil and gas. Also east of Boulder is a residential development built around air strips. This concept is somewhat common in the western U.S., a reflection of the great distances found there. People in the west think nothing of driving seventy miles to buy groceries, so having an airplane helps deal with the distance problem. You simply land on the air strip and taxi up to your house (which has a nice hanger built in). One such development has not only an air strip, but also an odd restaurant. The "Convair Restaurant" has a Convair 880 mounted on a building, about twenty feet above ground. In the base building were bar and kitchen areas, with the dining area up in the airplane. This ungainly affair ultimately did not succeed and now sits derelict and abandoned. Birds fly in and out of the stranded airliner, and this monstrosity must be a continuing source of aggravation for the neighbors. The restaurant's slogan? "The best meal that you will ever have in an airplane." Golden The name gives you a clue, for Golden was a gateway city, a city which led to places of gold. While the gold ore was dug at Central City and Georgetown, it was processed in Golden. So the town's name is fair. And Golden is still the site of interesting things. The town itself is comfortable along the edge of the front range of the Rockies. People hang out there in fun little restaurants in downtown Golden, sitting at tables on sidewalks. To the eastern edge of Golden is the Coors brewery, the largest single brewery in the world. Others may produce more, but Coors makes more here than in any other single place. The Burlington Northern hauls in materials and hauls out product from Coors. Red SW-8's handle the in-plant switching chores. Across the street from the brewery, ACX produces ceramics and glassware. Once part of the Coors operation, ACX was spun off in 1992. Their products include the ceramic material used in chips, and specialty packaging. Golden remains a company town. Further east from Golden, in sight of the brewery is the Colorado Railroad Museum. It has been a while since I was at the museum, and many good things have happened there. The museum is faithful to Colorado; everything displayed there has Colorado provenance. There is a huge Burlington O-5 Class 4-8-4, and there is a tiny C&S Clear Creek line caboose. Everything there has its roots in Colorado, and that is something to the credit of the museum's staff. For so many years, the museum was the child of one person, someone who cared greatly for the preservation of Colorado's railroad heritage. Someone who gathered together what Colorado was going to destroy. Someone who brought it back to a safe place, and began to preserve. Such efforts rarely occur in a vacuum, though, and with all that concern and care, it also became obvious that one person could not do all of the work that needed to be done. And it became obvious that others would not come and participate unless some left. It must have been heartbreaking and gut wrenching, to have done so much for a project, only to realize that for the project to succeed, they would have to leave. When I visited the museum in 1979, it was sad and decrepit. Efforts were being made, but there remained so much left to do. Today, the Colorado Railroad Museum is thriving. Certainly, the Museum has always been a key force with railroad preservation. Now its displays are clean and well maintained. What is still in need of preservation has been stabilized. What operates now works well. In the basement of the Museum's main building is a model railroad. Like so many other living things, it is a work that is still in progress. There are interesting displays of letters, timetables, and memorabilia. The main building also has its own cat, no home should be without one. The Colorado Railroad Museum lives. Idaho Springs West of Denver and Golden, up Clear Creek, the three foot gauged Colorado Central served the gold mines of Central City and Blackhawk, and Georgetown. Later operated as the Colorado & Southern, a subsidiary of the Burlington, the Clear Creek lines have produced endless interest. This interest has resulted in a wide variety of books, photographs, models, and stories. And, there remains a very interesting vestige of this wonderful railroad, the Georgetown Loop Railroad. Heading out of Golden, the railroad followed Clear Creek up into the gold mining areas west of Denver. At Forks Creek, a branch line continued up to Black Hawk and Central City. At Central City, the mineral wealth of the area was gathered together by the two foot gauged Gilpin Tram railroad. Once this mineral wealth was processed, it was hauled out by the Colorado & Southern. The main railroad continued from Forks to Idaho Springs, another gold mining area. Idaho Springs has the Argo Tunnel. Originally called the Newhouse Tunnel, but almost immediately renamed Argo, the tunnel was built to dewater the mines of Central City, and to haul the ore produced from those mines to a processing plant at Idaho Springs. Driven directly into a hillside at Idaho Springs, the 4 mile tunnel was typically 1300 feet below the ground in the Central City area. Although an accident caused the collapse of the tunnel in 1943, the drainage effect caused by the tunnel still works to this day. Many mines in the Central City area would ship their gold ore out via the tunnel for processing. Today, the mine is still a tourist attraction, visible from the interstate. I have been tempted on several occasions to visit, but always end up changing my mind. I suspect that the presence of pony rides at this attraction leads me to other places. Given my distaste for riding very small horses at tourist traps, you should know that there is a very interesting alternative in Idaho Springs, the Edgar Experimental Mine. The Edgar is operated by the Colorado School of Mines, a four year institution run by the State of Colorado. Schools of Mines are a bit of an oddity, almost a vestige of the past By my reckoning, only Colorado and South Dakota operate such schools. It is understandable that such institutions are rare, yet they serve a real purpose, and the Edgar Mine serves a real purpose, too. It educates college students in hands-on mining operations, serving as a useful laboratory for those who wish to learn about practical geology. There are no pony rides at the Edgar Mine, and the only clue of its presence is a small sign on the main drag of Idaho Springs. You turn off the main street, head up a residential side street, pass a gate, and start climbing up the hillside on a narrow gravel road. This road alone helps keep the riff-raff out. Once at the tunnel opening, you are a bit uncomfortable, for this place has the look of a typical industrial operation. Machinery is stored in one area to the side of the tunnel mouth. A narrow gauge track exits the tunnel and ends at the edge of the hillside. A mine spoil pile forms below the track's end. An empty mine car stands at track's end, as if just emptied. I suppose that one clue is that everything is very orderly. Unlike other mine operations I have visited, there are no empty beer cans lying on the ground, nor are there empty hydraulic fluid cans. But the place looks like a proper mineral recovery operation should, an ideal example of the business of mining. The tour of the Edgar costs $4.00 and does not include a horse ride. It is money well spent. Our tour guide is an undergraduate student fresh from a teaching tour of Chile. For the next hour, we are given a deluxe tour of all that the Edgar has to offer. The tour starts off with the ordinary stuff, geared to the visiting flatlander who has never been inside a hill before. At some point, our guide recognizes that we are your basic industrial-strength mine tourist, and we get the extra trimmings reserved for those who are serious about this sort of thing. The mine is a laboratory for experimental mineral recovery techniques. At one point in the mine, they are exploring the possibility of extracting gold and other ores without the physical process of digging the stuff out. Current technology digs the ore out and places it in large "leaching pads". The ore is placed outside in piles, and chemicals slowly leach out the gold from the ore. It is all coldly efficient, loaded with environmental problems, and once the gold has been removed from the ore, you are left with large amounts of ore residue, tailings. To be able to remove the metals without physically disturbing the rock it came from is a promising development. Inside the mine, an area is devoted to testing this theory. Another area is a U. S. Army project, testing methods for detecting tunnel construction, a useful thing for the area of North Korea along the DMZ. In short, the Edgar Mine is worth the trip. As we leave, we ask our tour guide about local restaurants, hoping to find some local color. Their place of choice? The local Subway. Garden Railway Convention My ultimate reason for going to Denver in the first place was to attend the 10th Annual Garden Railway Convention. Held at the Denver Tech Center, south of downtown Denver, this show was a positive success. Perhaps the best explanation for this success rests with the nature of the people at such a show. Many of those at the show were gardeners first, a patient breed. Many of the conventioneers are families who are all working on their garden railway project together. Traditional model railroaders disappear into basements, shielded from their neighbor's and spouse's eyes. Garden railroaders work out in the open air, and that seem to make all the difference. Much of what garden railroad people do is so unique, a reflection of their own personalities. These differences manifested themselves in a variety of wonderful ways. As a commercial exhibitor, I am not accustomed to the level of help offered by the convention volunteers. All through the set-up, and take-down process, volunteers were there to help as they could. I cannot understate how pleasant and useful their help was. The average conventioneer was more laid-back than the average model railroader. Garden railroaders seem to be realistic enough to know that if they want something a bit off-beat, they have to build it themselves. And, build it they do, for the model room is filled with highly crafted, well executed models of countless subjects. The Garden Railway Convention was a joy, and I look forward to the next one, in Cincinnati. Georgetown There remains at Georgetown a vestige of what once was. The Georgetown Loop Railroad gives you just a flavor of the Clear Creek narrow gauge, but you can easily see what it was like. And if you close your eyes, well, maybe..... The history of the railroad, and especially the Georgetown Loop, has been better covered by others, and I will leave it to you to look there. My words are about what is there today, and it is worth the trip to visit. The Loop Railroad is a modern business, and is conducted as such. The locomotive shops and company offices are at Silver Plume, at the top of the hill. Certainly, the locomotives are old, and the rolling stock is modified to meet modern tourist railroad needs, but the Georgetown Loop was always a tourist attraction, and it remains a tourist attraction today. The phrase "tourist attraction" has gotten a bad name in recent years; too much of the fake gunfights and Native Americans riding horseback shooting at the train stuff. The GLR's purpose in this world is to serve tourists, but it does it in such a way that, for a brief afternoon, those who tour can see something grand. The railroad's motive power is an interesting mix. Two Shays do much of the work, but a 2-6-0 is there also. There are those who are disappointed when the Shays are handling the railroad's business, and there are those who are crestfallen when the rod locomotive takes the point. But steam is steam, and whatever the locomotive, the train ride is great and awe inspiring. In case of locomotive problems, two diesels stand by at Silver Plume, but these, too, are quite interesting relics. The silver diesels with blue lettering, #'s 130 and 140, appear to be the three foot gauged 70 ton GE's which were used at a U.S. Potash mining operation in Loving, NM. They are the company's motive power insurance, for when steam fails, the diesels can come quickly to save the train schedules. Our locomotive this day is the 2-6-0, a nicely proportioned engine that once ran in Central America. It is in fine shape after some obviously loving restoration. The train is a series of both closed and open cars. The closed cars are in great demand today, for it is threatening to rain heavily. As usual, I throw caution to the wind (and the rain) and take an open car spot. Going down grade to Georgetown is pretty much a piece of cake. Mostly, the engineer must keep the train under control as it drops the 4% grade down to the Georgetown terminus, which is just west of downtown Georgetown. A stop is made midway down the hill to pick up passengers who have toured a model gold mine and mill, and then our trip continues downward. The wind is starting to blow, and rain is skittering about the valley that we are descending. Over the train's public address system, our conductor does his spiel in clear, easy to understand words. As we approach the loop bridge, he warns of the gusty winds that are endemic to this spot. As we cross, a look to either side of the train offers a spectacular view. The civil engineers who designed this railroad did so that the railroad could gain height from Georgetown to reach Silver Plume. What they had not recognized was that this would also give passengers a breath taking view, a view that would forever insure the Georgetown Loop's reputation as a tourist attraction. As usual, I get into conversation with the train crew, for it is the operating crews that I feel most comfortable with. Both the conductor and brakeman are railroad enthusiasts, and steam fans at that, but what they do is also a responsible job. Besides the mundane trash pick up, it is obvious that they are always aware of the train's behavior, since this is mountain railroading. Trains operating in mountains are prone to doing unplanned things, and the crews are always alert to this possibility. Of course, every effort has been made to insure safety, and their caution is strictly a matter of conscience. Our conductor came here from Knott's Berry farm, a perfect training ground for a railroad such as the Georgetown Loop. The train arrives at the Georgetown station, and our 2-6-0 runs around to the uphill side of the train for the return to Silver Plume. The air is hooked up, a test is made, and we are ready to go. And what we will see is some pretty exciting railroading. The train backs a bit for the brake test, and from the rear of the train it is obvious that there is no more track down hill. We can only go upgrade from here; several miles of 3 to 4 percent grade. With a loaded train. In the rain. The rails are nicely slippery, a result of the rain and grease from the passage of trains. Yet from the start, it is obvious that our engineer has complete control of both the locomotive and the train. The stack talk is clear and LOUD for such a small engine. Our train clambers upward and the rain blows by in fits and starts. Between the steep gradient and the curves that our train passes through, the train becomes heavier. On more than one occasion, the locomotive starts to lose its footing. Yet as the stack begins to rapidly talk, indicating that the locomotive no longer has traction, the engineer notches back briefly, then gradually opens the throttle back. Each time, the little Mogul obligingly digs in and keeps heading upward. The skill of operating a steam locomotive is rapidly dwindling, as the available pool of skilled engineers becomes smaller each year. Yet our engineer has the skills necessary for mountain railroading under steam, and our train never falters as it returns to Silver Plume. At the end of the run, we talk with the crew a bit. For them, it is time to clock out and go home. Just another day, at just an ordinary job. The crew's words and motions tell otherwise, though, for this is an exceptional job for a steam railroad enthusiast. It is a dirty job, but someone has to do it. Plans call for the Loop Railroad to eventually enter into Georgetown, but that is still a distant reality. For the moment, the line remains a bit isolated, but well worth the trip. Georgetown itself also is worth the trip. Nicely preserved, with an eye toward lots of visitors, the town is pleasant and comfortable. There are no pony rides here. Returning to Denver Our visit to Georgetown was on a Sunday afternoon, in the middle of summer. Returning to Denver on I-70, we quickly run into heavy traffic. People are going home to Denver from a weekend of playing. Other traffic is going on through to points east. There are four lanes worth of traffic for two lanes of Interstate, so things are backing up badly. My back-seat driving companions quickly suggest an alternate route, and I remember that the old U.S. Route 6 runs parallel to much of I-70 until beyond Idaho Springs. So, we get off the four lane, and start driving down the old two lane road. Now, think about this situation just a bit. Here you have a two lane highway which runs parallel to a four lane highway. The traffic is backed up on the four lane highway, but relatively few drivers have figured out that the two lane highway is a better alternate. In part, this is because the two lane road is marked with speed limit signs of 45 MPH, while the four lane road has 65 MPH signs. However, traffic on the 65 MPH highway is moving at 5 MPH, and I figure that there is a net gain of 40 MPH here. So, we are driving comfortably along at 45. However, there are those who get greedy in these situations. I am passed a couple of times by those who desire to drive at 65 MPH, contrary to the 45 MPH limit. They seem to be doing quite well, and I am tempted to try going faster. However, my feeble little brain is doing some reasoning. This road is marked at 45 MPH for some sort of purpose. We are making reasonably good time, especially in comparison to the 65 MPH highway where everybody is doing 5 MPH. As we cruise along, my driving companions and I discuss the situation. A thought quickly comes up. The traffic jam on I-70 must occur every Sunday afternoon, since a lot of people from Denver are returning home after a nice weekend in the mountains. Which means that this traffic jam happens pretty much every Sunday afternoon, at about this time of day. Another 45 MPH sign passes, and I resist the urge to go faster. Which is just as well, for around the next curve, we spot one of those who passed us at 65 MPH. This driver is now sitting on the side of the road, pulled over by the local police for speeding. We see the same scene around the next curve. And around the next. The local police are not stupid, they have figured this out, too. Every Sunday afternoon, traffic backs up on the interstate. Every Sunday afternoon, some people get impatient. You can just see the local cops getting up from Sunday dinner, stretching a bit, kissing the wife and kids good-bye, and going out to the highway area marked 45 MPH. They curl up there with a copy of Police Gazette, wait patiently for the impatient, and help fill the local government coffers. Traffic lightens up just after Idaho Springs. An added side benefit is that some stretches of this side road, while gravel, also are built on the old right of way of the Colorado & Southern. Cripple Creek/Victor The name Cripple Creek evokes powerful images. It is a place of fabulous wealth; millions of dollars worth of gold have been removed from the hillsides around the town. Just south of Cripple Creek, Victor echoes that wealth. Smaller sites, Elkton, Gillet, Goldfield echo, too. Even now, long after millions upon millions have been extracted from the rock, there is still gold mining taking place there, today. The mine names are famous; Cresson, Molly Kathleen, Vindicator, Gold King. Originally, the towns of Victor and Cripple Creek were served by the Colorado Midland. The Colorado Midland ran from Colorado Springs to Glenwood Springs. It intersected with the South Park line at Trout Creek Pass, went into Leadville, crossed the Continental Divide at Hagerman Tunnel. The total abandonment of the Colorado Midland was the largest such railroad abandonment in the U.S., one without prior precedent. It would remain so until the New York, Ontario, & Western finally went down the drain in the early 1950's. With the departure of the Colorado Midland, the Midland Terminal (which was the operating company from Divide to Victor and Cripple Creek), bought the CM trackage from Divide to Colorado Springs and continued life until 1949. Cripple Creek and Victor both are parts of an active mining district. There are signs posted that tell you so. And that is the truth. Everywhere I look in the Cripple Creek District, mining for gold is still taking place. To be sure, the methods have changed, for there are cyanide leaching pads everywhere, with appropriate warning signs. To save costs of recovery, the leaching pad is now the method of choice in the mining districts of the west. Huge amounts of low grade ore are brought out and piled up. Cyanide compounds are sprinkled onto these piles, and the gold bearing compounds are gathered at the bottom of the leaching pad, processed further, and the gold recovered. It is a fascinating business. Cyanide leaching is a shotgun process, though, and relies upon massive removal of gold bearing ore, literally hauled off by the ton for leaching. It also is a slow process. Not quite as clear is what happens with the tailings after the gold is removed, but Battle Mountain in Victor is slowly being hauled off to the pads. Nor is all the mining action strictly by large corporations. I spot one mine being worked by a crew of about four people. A diesel dragline crane is being used to haul ore up from the depths. I get into a pleasant conversation with another local miner. As I stand by roadside, with maps in hand, a truck stops and the driver asks if he can help. I answer that, yes, I could use a bit of help, and this starts a dialogue conversation which leaves me happy. He is a retired Army officer, here in Victor since the early 1950's. We talk back and forth for a while, and I have some of my questions answered. His parting comment: "Well, most people here are pretty friendly. Those who aren't friendly haven't been here that long". He is right. The Midland was not the only railroad route into Cripple Creek. Such was the area's importance that there were two other railroads which served the mining district. The Florence & Cripple Creek ran from Florence to Cripple Creek. The Colorado Springs & Cripple Creek District Railway also served the area. The F&CC died in 1917 after a major flood. Local trackage went to the Gold Circle Railroad of Cripple Creek. The CS&CCD went out of business in 1920. Both routes are still "passable". The CS&CCD can now be followed on the "Gold Camp Road", a spectacular drive from Colorado Springs to Victor and Cripple Creek. The Gold Camp Road follows virtually the entire right of way of the railroad. The Florence & Cripple Creek route can also be driven from Victor to Florence. I locate this road, and contemplate driving down Phantom Canyon to Florence. A road sign stops me dead in my tracks. "Travel Road At Your Own Risk" carries some weight for me, especially after seeing some of the roads that did not merit such a sign. After sufficient consideration, I turn around and follow the Midland Terminal back down to Woodland Park, the head north to Deckers. Blanca There isn't much to Blanca, but it is more than a wide spot in US 160. The Denver & Rio Grande line from Walsenberg to Alamosa runs through town, but that is not what is interesting here. What remains of the San Luis Southern is here. This line is an oddity to begin with, but another oddity remains. At an industrial site south of Blanca, the D-500 operates. This locomotive is hard to describe, but it is a B-B, chain driven, home made center cab locomotive. In a locomotive roster from Railroad Magazine (in the 1950's), this locomotive is described as having Tractive Effort which is "Tremendous". Now, well into the 1990's, the D-500 works in obscurity. Little else remains of the SSLV. Berwind/Ludlow Much of southern Colorado and northern New Mexico makes its life from coal. Coal is everywhere, and the signs of mining are here, too. The nature of this resource is one of exploitation, and that is the truest word. The deposit is discovered, and it is exploited. The coal is hauled off to the cities, and it is burned. It is coked, and used to make steel. Once the coal is gone, the mines close and the people go away. They leave their monuments, though, which remain until our discovery. So it is with Ludlow and with Berwind. These places have their own stories and not all of the exploitation was of the coal resources. As you head south from Pueblo on Interstate 25, a road sign points out the Ludlow Monument. In earlier years, a large billboard sponsored by the United Mine Workers loudly screamed, too. I do not see it this time, perhaps because it is gone, or perhaps because I no longer notice it. At Ludlow, something terrible happened, a fact made even more noticeable in the context of coal mining. Coal mining is dangerous work, and those who do it run risks that are extraordinary. This whole area is riddled with coal deposits, and the remains of the mines that exploited these deposits are everywhere. Huge piles of substandard coal mark the areas of the mines. The low grade coal was brought out and dumped, as the mining companies sought richer deposits. This area is a remote one, and the miners who worked here also lived here in company built houses that were in company owned towns. Those who mined the coal were often held closely to the company towns, and often had few other employment prospects. In light of this, miner/mine owner conflicts were common. I will leave it to you to imagine the nature of the situation. If you want a good place to begin, watch a movie called "The Molly McGuires", or read a book called "Out of the Depths" (Beshoar). What happened at Ludlow is subject to some interpretation; I will tell you what I know. A strike by the miners at Ludlow arose after one too many management indignities. The Western Federation of Miners (later part of the UMW) was a strong group, having gained much experience dealing with mine owners in the hard rock mines of Cripple Creek and other places in the Rockies. The Ludlow miners went out, and when they could not pay the rent for their company owned houses, they were forced out. A tent city was built outside of Ludlow for the miners and their families to live in while the strike dragged on. The governor of Colorado called in the Colorado Militia, a paramilitary group. Many of the officers of the Militia were mine owners themselves. The scene was a tense one, and, as with every controversial event, some of the facts are clouded in opinion and time. The head of the Colorado Militia contingent was riding his horse down a street in nearby Trinidad. A loud noise was heard; perhaps it was gunfire, perhaps a firecracker. The horse reared, and the commander of the Militia was thrown from his horse amid great laughter from those watching the event. He was humiliated. That evening, a mob marched out to Ludlow and drove the miners and their families from the tent city. Some of the miner's families had hidden from the mob. The tents were set on fire. And women and children perished in that fire. A stone monument marks the spot of the disaster. It is a quiet spot, perhaps 1/2 mile from the interstate. Nearby, the joint railroad trackage runs north from Trinidad to Pueblo. Trees have been planted, and a fence erected to protect the area, but it is open and there is a visitor's register. The box-like shed that holds the register also holds union cards of those who have come to see for themselves. As time goes on, fewer people remember. It has been eighty years. If you head further away from the interstate, you will wend your way up Road Canyon and come upon the ruins of Berwind. Another company town, Berwind was alive until 1947. The Colorado & Southern had branches to both Ludlow and Berwind; both closed in the early to mid-1950's. Now, all that remains are the signs of an ancient civilization. Walls and impediments are scattered everywhere. Ancient buildings stand, the wood portions have long since decayed and what remains is the concrete and stone. Along the canyon walls, the tell tale signs of closed mines abound. The usual spoil pile of inferior coal, fallen timbers of ramps and headframes. It is a quiet place, and you look about to see what once was here. Back at Ludlow, an old schoolhouse stands shuttered in weathered dignity. A tree grows up between the spokes of a merry-go-round. The metal jungle gym quietly oxidizes in the western sun. The nature of time is different in the west. Trinidad South of Ludlow is Trinidad, the gateway to Raton Pass and to the southwest. The Santa Fe collects itself here, with lines converging from La Junta and from Denver. The grade starts at the edge of town which leads to the Pass. Trinidad is an old town, yet it remains alive and vital. To the west of town, the Purgatory River flows into Trinidad Lake. The Colorado & Wyoming Railroad runs along this valley to Weston and Stonewall. This railroad is unusual since it has three divisions. This is the southern division, another division serves the steel mills at Pueblo, mills which now appear to be closed, while another division works mines in Wyoming. The C&W is owned by Colorado Fuel & Iron, now CFI, Inc. Its subsidiary, the Wyoming Fuel Company operated the Allen Mine at Stonewall. This place is one of memory for me, but much that remains is my memory of the people that I knew. The Allen is now closed, and the land has been returned to something like original condition. The explosives magazine remains, as do two maintenance buildings. The man-way, the access to the mine, remains, with sturdy steel mesh preventing entry. Other mines have opened, with New Elk and Golden Eagle now digging out the coal. The C&W is still maintained, but much of the haulage seems to be by truck now. Further west from the Allen is Stonewall. A geologic wonder, this stone wall literally erupted out of the earth, thrusting brown rock upward like a wall. It is impressive, even today. Campers gather here to enjoy the fresh air and clear water. East from the mines is Cokedale. The typical piles of low grade coal mark one edge of the town. Railroads ran here once, a Denver & Rio Grande branch went up several miles to the Bon Carbo mine. The C&W also had branches which ran to other mines with names like Segundo and Tercio. When the coal was gone, the railroads were removed. Segundo and Tercio are ghost towns, yet Cokedale stays alive. The mining is now long over, yet people have chosen to stay here. It is a suburb of Trinidad. Raton Over the mountain is Raton, and the Raton Pass divides things nicely. At Trinidad, you have the Great Plains to your back. As you enter Raton, you face the southwest, a broad expanse of lush, yet vacant, land. The view is the classic western scene with huge rock ships sailing on a sea of light green. It has been a wet year, and the grass is lush, or as lush as it gets in the west. Behind you is Raton Pass, and civilization. Ahead of you is the wild west and open territory. Certainly, things have changed over the centuries, but the difference here is palpable. There is something in the air, and the light, well, the light is a photographer's delight. It is a pure, clean light, with a no-nonsense feel to it. The sky is big, the clouds beautiful, and I am left feeling a bit small in comparison. Which is a good thing. Raton has an old-west feel to it, even in the 1990's. It is a Santa Fe division point, and, in earlier times, also was the starting point of several coal mining branches. The coal is now gone, and these branches have slowly dwindled. All that remains is the York Canyon branch. Formerly, this line was Southern Pacific, but Uncle John runs things these days. Other branches went to Cimarron and Ute Park, to other coal mines and lumber sources. Enough Already The landing gear button up, the slats retract, and I am left to the privacy of my thoughts. It is now DEN-ATL, and I am afforded the time to reflect upon what all of this means. Colorado is different from any place else. Just as the South is different, just as Provence is different. A place becomes what it is because of where it is. Colorado is because of its mineral wealth, and because of its people. Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson could never live in New York City. It would be a contest to see who shoots first, Thompson or some New Yorker. The overriding reality of Colorado, and the western U.S. in general, is wide open spaces. In the west, people literally drive 100 miles to buy groceries. Their nearest neighbors may be 5 miles away. Even in western cities, there is this sense of open space. And because of the mountains, there is also a sense of being put into one's place by their sheer size. The vastness of things became apparent when I returned the rental car. In eleven days, I have put 2,000 miles on it. The west is about open spaces, and big mountains, and minerals, and the unique attitude of "live and let live". The open spaces allow for that. There is a timelessness, too. As you search about for abandoned railroads, you come across wooden passenger cars, left exposed to the elements, that have been in their place for 50 years. As you search about, you come across towns that have been abandoned, yet what once was is still apparent to the uneducated eye. In New York, you have mountains of steel made by humanity. In Colorado, you have mountains made by something which we barely understand. For us, as railroad enthusiasts, Colorado is attractive because of the old railroads, lines which were built with mineral wealth in mind. The mines are still there, and the minerals are still there, too. So vast is this mineral wealth that even after years of digging, there is still more to be found. The streets of Victor were literally paved with gold, ore too poor to profitably extract the precious metal. And it was this wealth that drove so many railroads, and it was the rise and fall of these commodities that closed these interesting lines. Yet, the mines stay there in spite of the odds, for what they produce is in demand. At Questa, New Mexico, a huge molybdenum mine digs up hillsides. The environmentalists are concerned, but the uses for moly exceed their reach. Without molybdenum, there would be no hard steel, and no towers in New York City. So the mines will continue, and as their mineral content declines, more efficient methods will develop to extract the last bits of material. This is the story of Colorado, too. What does this all mean? It is different for each of us. To some, it is a place of silver jewelry. To others, it is a place of snow and steep slopes. For me, it is the railroads, and the mines that spawned them. It is a place of history. It is a reminder of the ephemeral nature of things. Dawson The description of Dawson starts "You will never forget it". Philip Varney wrote those words about Dawson Cemetery, New Mexico, and he isn't kidding. This place is removed from the bustle of the day to day world. You drive about 28 miles from Raton to Colfax. There isn't much to Colfax anymore, just a railroad crossing, the remains of a few railroad cars, and a building foundation or two. The railroad cars are remarkably well preserved, for this is the desert, and moisture does not take its toll as quickly here. From Colfax, a dirt road leads to Dawson Cemetery. Only a small sign on U.S. 64 tells you that it is there. You drive along, fast at first until you realize that the road is slowly getting worse. To the west, the AT&SF York Canyon line wends upward into the New Mexico mountains. The dirt road narrows, and the chuck holes get a bit bigger. The day that I went to Dawson, yellow flowers were in bloom everywhere. The road ends abruptly at a fence and gate. Beyond, the land is posted against trespass. This is the west, and they take trespassing seriously out here, so you do not go further. Beyond the gate is what remains of the town of Dawson. There, coal was mined from the late 1880's. Initially, an individual owned the land, and sold coal to his neighbors. Later, Phelps Dodge bought the canyon, and coal mining continued on a grander scale. Like so many other coal seams in this area, simple adits were run into the hillsides, and coal was brought out in huge quantities. The seams are tall, but are often of varying quality. And coal mining is dangerous. Here, at Dawson, men died in the search for coal. And people are buried there. Dawson Cemetery is open to the public. From the locked gate that leads to Dawson, the cemetery is to your right, just up the hillside. An historical marker notes the place, and tells the story of some who are buried here. The numbers are just abstractions; 263 died at Stag Canyon #2 in 1913. Another 123 at Stag Canyon #1 in 1923. Just abstract numbers. A sea of white metal crosses populate the hillside, no names, no dates, for in many cases, the damage was so great as to render the body of the miner unrecognizable. As you walk amongst the white crosses and yellow flowers though, more texture appears. Not everybody buried here are miners. People lived here, and died here, too. These people came here from Italy, and Mexico, and Greece to mine coal and live their lives. An unusual stone draws me to it. It is an interesting headstone, marked with a large "D" at the top, and the notations: "Roland" "Nato 5 Marzo 1923" and below " ý ' ' ". Below that: "Olca" "Nata 13 Ottobre 1924" and " ý ' ' ". At the bottom of this stone is the family name, De Angelis. As I studied this stone, I realized that Roland and Olca had been infants, born and died the same day. It touched my heart, this stone that marks the brief lives of those who held so great a promise. There is a human story here, but, for the moment, it remains a mystery. You will never forget it. As I study the cemetery, I hear a familiar sound. A train is approaching from down the canyon. I gather myself by trackside, and eventually a Santa Fe coal train, running empty, is heading up the canyon to pick up another load of coal. Pulled by modern power, I feel a bit old when I realize that I do not know what type of locomotives these are. I can tell you what phase an NW-2 switcher is, but modern power is beginning to be lost on me. The locomotive's windows are tinted, so I cannot see the crew running this train, nor can I wave. There is no caboose. I turn back and return to the cemetery. The front gate is white metal with black gates. The large gate bears the word "Dawson". A smaller pedestrian gate has a miners symbol on it, two picks crossed in an "X". Beyond, a field of white crosses and yellow flowers. These places are everywhere in the west. Elizaabethtown, Green Mountain, Ludlow, and Dawson. You will see these lonely monuments, and I urge you to stop and look. For in death, you will see life. R. O'Connor 9/11/94 ----------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------ A few books proved to be quite handy for this trip, and for the preparation of this piece of writing. In no particular order: Tracking Ghost Railroads in Colorado. Robert Ormes. Century One Press, Colorado Springs, CO. The Midland Route. Edward M. McFarland. Colorado Railroad Museum, Golden, CO. The Switzerland Trail of America . Forest Crossen. Robinson Press (soft cover), Fort Collins, CO. Railfan's Guide to Colorado . Sibert & McKee. Pruett Publishing, Boulder CO. New Mexico's Railroads. David F. Myrick. University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, NM Inside the Mountains. Terry Cox. Pruett Publishing, Boulder, CO.