Parents see the world differently than people without children. We look at our surroundings with our kids in mind, analyzing risks, computing stranger danger, and considering their long-term character formation. Yet, we still want to give our kids out-of-the-ordinary experiences that inherently carry a lot of uncertainties, like road trips.
So to compensate, we painstakingly plan our trips. Planning gives us a sense of security, but, as the saying goes, “the best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.” It’s almost guaranteed that some unforeseen events will alter our plans.
This story highlights those surprises — policies, car trouble, bad weather, and strange people — and how we dealt with them during my meticulously planned trip through Kansas, southern Colorado, and northern New Mexico.
Apparent Failure
Our trip nearly ended before it even began due to an unforeseen rental car policy. In order to remove the most dreaded unknown of any road trip (car trouble), I rented a van — at least, I thought I had.
The day before my trip, as I stood at the counter of the big rental company to pick up the 15-passenger behemoth, I learned that I could not get the keys without using a credit card as a deposit (despite already prepaying). When I told the men behind the counter that I did not own a credit card, they tried to help, but the policy proved immovable.
Frustrated, I drove home, thinking the trip was over.
First Car Trouble
After some discussion, my wife and I decided to forge ahead and accept the real possibility that one of our cars might break down. We and our eight children would not fit into one car, meaning we would take the ever-reliable Toyota Sienna and my son’s older, and untested Lincoln Town Car.
We hit the road after Mass, early next morning under grey overcast skies and cool temps, uncharacteristic of Kansas in August. Not even a mile from our house, while filling the cars with gas for the first leg of the journey, we encountered it: car trouble. The Lincoln wouldn’t start.
I jumped it, and we decided to press on and test the battery at the next big town.
After an hour on I-70, we had the Lincoln diagnosed at the Junction City, Kansas, Auto Zone. We hoped for a simple dead battery but instead discovered a bad alternator. A quick Google search gave us hope that we could change the alternator ourselves, there, in the parking lot, in a light rain. To our great delight, my older boys and I got the job done quickly and got back on the road nearly on schedule.
Braving the Storm (and More Car Trouble)
Lake Scott / Photo by Thomas Gresham
Several more hours west on I-70, an incredible thunderstorm grew in the distance, a real Great Plains type of storm: inky black with tall, rounded cloud columns.
We beat the storm, barely, to our first stop, Monument Rocks. The chalky white spires burned white and gold due to the color contrast with the black storm. We rushed around the monument as the sky darkened, the temperature dropped, and the wind picked up.
Back in the car, we followed the grid-like dirt roads in a southwest direction with a sense of urgency. The local AM station crackled out, “tornado warning … golf ball-sized hail … headed toward Lake Scott”— our campsite for the night! “All travelers should avoid the area.”
Wind rocked our cars and an advance guard of rain drops and dust pelted us. We made it to the campsite just as the big rains hit. Waiting in our cars, we prayed that the tornado and hail would miss us as we ate cold, foil-wrapped burritos.
With prayers answered and the storm passed, my son tried to start the Lincoln. Unbelievably, it would not start. Then his electric trunk latch broke, and we used a shoe lace to tie it down.
At this point, we thought we could read the writing on the wall. The trip seemed destined to fail, and if this was as far as we got, then we’d make the best of it.
Sundown on Lake Scott was beautiful. We made s’mores on the water’s edge surrounded by bluffs that looked like someone cut into a multi-layered cake of green grass and gray stone.
Hope and the Great Sand Dunes
Great Sand Dunes / Photo by Thomas Gresham
After jumping the Lincoln the next morning, we drove to Scott City, Kansas, had a mechanic run all sorts of tests, and discovered that the new alternator was actually bad! With the part unavailable in Scott City, I ordered one to pick up in Alamosa, Colorado, hoping we could make it there the next day after a night at Great Sand Dunes National Park.
Hour after hour of soul sapping scenery on the backroads from Scott City heightened our appreciation of the mountains when they first appeared, hazily in the distance. Everyone peered and craned taking in the views along Highway 160 in Colorado.
From the highway, the Great Sand Dunes beckoned like waves of caramel.
Camping in Colorado
As we approached our campsite at Pinon Flats Campground, the only one within the National Park, I was impressed by the landscaping. Strategic placement of trees, bushes, rocks, and the clever use of elevation isolates individual sites, creating a sense of intimacy.
Early next morning, perched around the fire with mugs of hot chocolate and coffee, we enjoyed each other’s company with the dunes in the background.
I thought 7:20 a.m. was an early enough start on the dunes hike, and that I overstocked with water, but the dunes deceived me. Walking up the dune slope, we felt that the sand wanted any excuse to cascade downhill. Every footfall brought us only half way up and the sand beneath us half way down. Despite our fatigue, parched lips, sand-burned bare feet, and sunburned bodies, the climb was worth it.
After installing another alternator — in another parking lot, and with fewer tools available — we headed to our next stop near Durango, Colorado. I felt exhausted as we pulled into the mountain silence and pine scent of Junction Creek Campground in the San Juan National Forest. The kids made a fire, played UNO, and explored the area.
Aboard the Durango-Silverton Train
Durango-Silverton Railroad / Photo by Thomas Gresham
The next morning, we washed the pine smoke from our hair and donned fresh clothes, ready to ride the Durango-Silverton train.
As soon as the train jerked to a start, we all realized that this would be an incredible experience. It was clear our fellow passengers in the open-air gondola felt the same way. Even the townspeople understood. As we passed by, shoppers and kayakers along the Animas River paused their activities to give smiling, full-armed waves that my younger children returned with equal vigor.
Our ride, the Cascade Canyon tour, took us two hours deep into the canyon, with a brief stop for lunch, then back down.
If there is such a thing as beauty fatigue, we experienced it. None of us sat down as the train followed the path of the Animas River into the canyon. With each bend of the track, faint coal smoke mingled with the smell of crisp pine bringing new views: red-faced cliffs with patches of dark green, then snow-capped peaks peering over the granite mounds with stands of quaking aspen.
The Animas River first awed us with its crystal clearness. Further into the canyon, it dazzled with colors of deep blue and turquoise.
My 6-year-old especially enjoyed touching the aspen, pine, and rock faces as the train brushed past.
On the descent, we slumped into our seats for the first time, worn out from excitement. Embraced by the rhythmic swaying of the coal engine, we watched the tops of mountains go by and paid little heed to the serious-looking woman stricken with FOMO, ushering her kids to this side and now that side, snatching her money’s worth (or more) of nature scenes.
Mesa Verde (and Continued Car Trouble)
Cliff Palace at Mesa Verde / Photo by Gayle Gresham
The next day, we took two guided tours at Mesa Verde National Park. The first, Cliff Palace, walks past the largest cliff dwelling, giving a sense of the grandeur of ancient Pueblo culture, but the second one is a small family site. On the Balcony House tour, we walked amidst a few dwellings, stood inches away from the structures, and peered our heads into those hallowed spaces.
We all enjoyed the more adventurous side of the tour: scaling a 32-foot-tall wooden ladder and army crawling through an 18-inch-wide, 12-foot-long rock tunnel. Reservations open two weeks in advance, so be ready to book quickly!
Gallo Campground at Chaco Canyon / Photo by Daniel Gresham
On the road to Chaco Culture National Historic Park , the Lincoln disappeared from my rearview mirror. A minute of tense anticipation followed, then we received a text. The Lincoln overheated. It seemed our luck had truly run out at this point, but a call to my mechanic back home brought us hope: Drive at low speeds with the A/C off and turn on the heater as needed.
Cars piled up behind us on the two lane highway to Chaco as we lurched along. With only 10 miles to go until reaching Gallo Campground inside Chaco Culture National Historic Park, the dirt road morphed into speed-bump-sized washboards. Change, chips, and crayons went airborne until we slowed to just under 10 mph.
Bad Weather, Weirdos, and Wonder
Pueblo Bonito at Chaco Canyon / Photo by Daniel Gresham
An eerie sunset purpled the short cliffs as we entered Chaco Canyon. A group of elk watched in silence as we headed to our site in the sparsely populated campground. Lightning threatened to bring rain, but very little fell.
Instead, the storm’s waves of violent wind pressed the tent walls against our bodies as we tried to sleep. Some of my family preferred sleeping in the cramped car.
None of us felt rested the next morning as we boiled water over a fire for instant oatmeal when a man exited a white SUV that had lingered around our site for about an hour. Oblivious to protocol, he sauntered into our site, right up to our picnic table and asked for money. He staggered to keep his balance and smelled of sweet spirits. Though we gave him food and he returned to his car, he and his friend remained parked near us.
Creeped out, we quickly packed and drove to the visitor center, which had not opened yet. In the nearly deserted parking lot, we watched their white SUV drive slowly past.
Given the antiquity and immensity of the structures, as well as their precision and mystique, it is a wonder that they don’t draw more visitors. Parts of Pueblo Bonito, the largest great house, are over 1,000 years old, and visitors there can still walk through its maze-like interior!
Though the Puebloan sites at Chaco and Mesa Verde naturally evoke a reverential awe, visitors should keep in mind that the Pueblo still consider these places sacred.
Long ladder at Balcony House in Mesa Verde / Photo by Daniel Gresham
The Last Leg
We left Chaco early, at noon. The New Mexico summer sun dispelled my assumption that Midwestern heat and humidity would make dry heat more bearable. Plus, we had a long, slow, and mechanically uncertain drive ahead of us.
We spent our final night at deserted Cimarron National Grassland in southwestern Kansas. On the long backroad to our campsite, we disturbed clusters of bobwhite quail who forgot that cars also use those long flat asphalt trails. Completely alone at the campsite, we stoked a large fire and enjoyed the night, feeling like seasoned road-trippers.
Dirty, tired, and smoking a cheap cigar with a mug of whiskey, I mulled over the trip. As I watched the fire die down, I felt confident and lucky. I wondered what my kids learned from this trip, perhaps the importance of patience and perseverance.
Looking back on it, I realized that because the trip nearly did not happen, I appreciated each day. The mechanical issues along the way only reinforced our gratitude for reaching the next destination. Ultimately, this spirit of thankfulness kept us from getting annoyed at little things and focused instead on the bigger picture.
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About the Author: Daniel Gresham is a history professor in Kansas whose scholarly work has appeared in regional and international academic journals. He enjoys spending time with his family, hiking most anywhere, and gadgetless camping. Keep up with Daniel on LinkedIn.
