It was a warm October of twenty fifteen when I decided to take a spontaneous trip to the cooler mountains of Colorado. After extensive searches on travel websites, I came across Telluride. A beautiful little town surrounded by the San Juan Mountains just a few hours from Durango, Colorado. My eyes were immediately capture by the whimsical landscape. After eleven hours of driving through Texas, New Mexico, and Colorado I was finally reaching my destination. To my surprise the snow was covering the road like a blanket as well as the beautiful backdrop of great mountains, pine trees, rivers, and lakes. I remember it was a cold Tuesday morning when I finally saw the large sign that was reassuring me that I was close to my destination. As I entered …show more content…
I rolled down the icy windows to get a better view. The cloudless blue sky was crystal clear and vibrant and I could see the beaming sun rays reflecting thru the front glass of the twenty eleven white Honda CRV. The fresh air was freezing, but the warmth coming thru the air ventilators made it possible to keep the window down. I first notice the buildings surrounding the main street on both sides of the road. They were full of character with stunning classical features that gave them a colonial feel. The buildings were sitting one next to another with little room between them as if they were sardines in a can. They were mostly one to two stories, and brick built; with neutral red, white, green, and yellow tones. Some were narrowed and others were elongated. Different sized arched windows adorned the buildings and made them stunningly lovely. I was mostly intrigued by the houses that peaked thru the building as I drove through the main road. They were two stories. Small but cozy with different colors; bright and pastel, purples, red, yellow, green, and pink. They were also narrowed and one next to another with little to much room between them. I laughed a little at the magical charisma of the houses. They made me feel like I was on a Disney
family was they had three-rooms which were placed on a hill facing the "Big House". The
He fig-ured that the normal half hour walk home might take as long as two hours in snow this deep. And then there was the wind and the cold to contend with. The wind was blowing across the river and up over the embankment making the snow it carried colder and wetter than the snow blanketing the ground. He would have to use every skill he’d learned, living in these hills, to complete the journey without getting lost, freezing to death, or at the very least ending up with a severe case of frostbite be-fore he made it back to Ruby.
The buildings appear to be glued together, mostly small houses and apartment blocks that look nervous. There is murky snow spread out like a carpet. There is concrete, empty hat stand trees, and grey hair.” (pg. 27)
Have you ever looked off a gigantic cliff? Now imagine traveling 30 miles per hour on a bike with curvy roads with enormous cliffs on your side with no rails. This is exactly what I did with my family when we went to Colorado. From the hotel we drove to a bike tour place to take us to the summit of Pikes Peak. After we arrived at the building we saw pictures of how massive the cliffs were, but what terrified me was the fact they had no side rails. This observation was thrilling as well as terrifying. It was an odd mix of emotions, but I loved the adrenaline rush it gave me. My dad whispered to me, “ This will be absolutely horrifying”.
As my father and I finally fit the statue of the little Virgin Mary in the back of the car, it was time to get on the road. I could already taste the guavas from my great grandfather’s ranch. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The smell of my aunt’s cooking. Hearing the excitement of my great grandmother’s voice. I wanted to be there already, be in the beautiful country of Mexico. My thoughts wandered as we left my house. How much welcome, love, and the sadness of leaving was going to happen. It was too soon to find out.
I'm Jeffery the oxe and I recently completed the Oregon trail. In the beginning we started in Saint Louis, Missouri. We were waiting on the field for my food to grow, then I would be free fed.
I wonder if I should I start calling Las Vegas, Nevada home now. I’ve traveled back and forth from California to Las Vegas since I was a child. I can remember at the age of thirteen my family and I would take family weekend trips very often. By the age of seventeen I was forced to move to Vegas for 6 months right before my senior year of high school started. Since it was my last year of high school my parents decided to let me go back to California for the last three months and graduate with my friends. Since I wasn’t eighteen yet, I forced to go back to Las Vegas right the day after graduation.
Because of some of the circumstances that make me who I am, it is hard to say I have any one definitive home. Instead, I have had two true homes, ever since I was a young child. What makes this even more of a conundrum is that my homes have always had little in common, even though they are only a few hundred miles apart. Between the big city of Houston, Texas, and the small town of Burns Flat, Oklahoma, I have grown up in two very different towns that relate to one another only in the sense that they have both raised me.
I wake up to the sun shining through the window and the faint laughter from my family downstairs. It's the first day of our annual trip to Rhode Island. I lie in bed for a few moments and think about one thing. Rhode Island. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than here. I glance at the clock and it is only eight in the morning, but everybody is already up, enjoying breakfast, and getting ready to head to the beach. It's not supposed to rain until later in the day, so hopefully we can enjoy our day at the beach before it rains. I eventually make my way out of bed and tiptoe across the frigid wood floors and join my family downstairs. Everybody is up except my brother, Thomas.
Three inches of fresh snow fell last night, creating a blanket of freshness that reflects the last rays of moonlight. As we drive into our property we see fresh deer tracks and my heart starts pumping, I have been away from Wisconsin for a few months and this morning is the first time I entered these woods since September. A few hundred yards into the woods we jump three deer walking the road. They bound off into the darkness in flashes of brown silhouetted by snow. We park...
Looking upon the huge hill, a great, enormous, mass of snow, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the hill. It was my first blue square course, an intermediate level. I felt thrilled, excited, scared,
At times, the snow was falling so heavily you could hardly see the streetlights that glistened like beacons in a sea of snow. With the landscape draped in white, the trees hanging over as to almost touch the ground, homes pillowed in a fluffy white shroud, winter had surely arrived and with a vengeance.
The ruckus from the bottom of the truck is unbearable, because of the noise and excessive shaking. As we slowly climbed the mountain road to reach our lovely cabin, it seemed almost impossible to reach the top, but every time we reached it safely. The rocks and deep potholes shook the truck and the people in it, like a paint mixer. Every window in the truck was rolled down so we could have some leverage to hold on and not loose our grip we needed so greatly. The fresh clean mountain air entered the truck; it smelt as if we were lost: nowhere close to home. It was a feeling of relief to get away from all the problems at home. The road was deeply covered with huge pines and baby aspen trees. Closely examining the surrounding, it looks as if it did the last time we were up here.
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
One of the most enjoyable things in life are road trips, particularly to the Colorado mountains. Getting to spend time with your family and friends, while being in a beautiful place, is irreplaceable. The fifteen-hour road trip may feel never-ending, but gazing at the mountains from afar makes life’s problems seem a little smaller and causes worries to become a thing of the past. Coming in contact with nature, untouched, is a surreal experience. My family trip to the Colorado mountains last summer was inspiring.