through the Rockies, not around them – pt. 1

Travel in today’s United States is mostly about two things: the automobile, which is a fixture in every part of America, and the airplane, which made the vast expanses of the U.S. easy to cross in mere hours. However, one form of transport that was so crucial to the history of the United States is often overlooked in favor of these two: the train. Even though train travel in the U.S. (at least outside of the Northeast) is often seen as the domain of families and retirees it can still be a perfectly viable means of travel for those seeking no more than transport in style.

One of the most well known of America’s modern passenger train routes is the California Zephyr, a named train that has its roots in the postwar 1940s. The route of the original Zephyr from Chicago to San Francisco was a cooperative hand-off effort of three American railroads, all now defunct. This relay race of sorts led passengers through some of the most beautiful parts of North America, including the headwaters of the Colorado River in the high Rockies, the strange desolation of the Utah desert, and the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. The most difficult portion for the Zephyr to traverse, from Denver through the Rockies to Salt Lake City, was the job of the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad – and this was no small task.

The gold and silver rushes of the mid to late 1800s caused a huge amount of railroad expansion into the Rocky Mountains of Colorado in search of riches, and dozens of narrow and standard gauge railroad lines stretched between the unforgiving peaks. The engineering challenges were gargantuan; narrow, treacherous passages like the Black Canyon of the Gunnison proved almost impossible to build through, steep grades and treeless high mountain passes had to be negotiated, sometimes by blasting paths out of solid rock, and deadly winter blizzards forced shutdowns and stoppages again and again.

A map of the Denver and Rio Grande Western circa 1930, showing Colorado crisscrossed with rail lines originally built by at least a dozen companies. By 1930, the D&RGW had absorbed almost all of them into their dual gauge system – the lines in black are 3′ (90 cm) gauge while the red ones are standard 4′ 8½” (1.4 m).

The Rio Grande’s mountain routes have been famous since their inception for the staggering scenery along the way. Originally, mainline trains had to travel from Denver to Pueblo before turning west into the Rockies, then into the Royal Gorge of the Gunnison River and through the impossibly deep Black Canyon before climbing north over Tennessee Pass – the highest point on the entire US rail system. From the top of the pass, trains then descended the Eagle River valley (passing through Belden) and met the banks of the Colorado River, following it west again through Glenwood and De Beque Canyons before clearing the Rockies. This way of doing things was an ethos for ‘the Grande’; their motto was ‘Through the Rockies, Not Around Them’ – a bit of a jab at their competitors (and, ironically, their eventual owners) to the north, the Union Pacific Railroad. The UP used a much easier route through the gradual, easy grades of South Pass in Wyoming, whereas the Rio Grande went west the hard way – straight through the heart of the mountains.

However, as airplanes and automobiles took over for long-distance trains, the preferred way of crossing the Rockies changed – gone were the days of teams of locomotives shoving passengers over high passes and through smoky tunnels. In 1971, during the height of the Oil Crisis, all of America’s mainline railroads ceased passenger operations, handing them in bulk over to a hastily organized state corporation – Amtrak was born. However, the D&RGW, long known for its independent streak, shunned Amtrak and continued to operate its portion of the Zephyr route as the Rio Grande Zephyr until 24 April 1983, when further declines in passengers finally forced the Grande to hand the Zephyr route over to Amtrak.

The Rio Grande Zephyr waits for its final departure from Denver’s Union Station on 24 April 1983. Photo by Slideshow Bruce via Wikimedia.

Jump ahead now, if you will, to the present day. In the middle of summer, I decided that a friend in Salt Lake City was long overdue for a visit. I booked myself a train ticket, and on the appointed day, my California Zephyr showed up at Denver’s temporary Amtrak station backwards – and nearly two hours late. The backwards part is perfectly normal, with Denver’s Union Station resting on a long stub of track that requires the reverse move for access. Today, it was track maintenance and a few passing freight trains east of Denver that held Train #5 up, but no matter; soon we would head out of Denver for the high country and begin making that time back.

Passengers wait to board the Zephyr at Denver’s temporary Amtrak station. Union Station, the Zephyr’s stop since the 1930s, is being turned into a regional commuter rail terminal, and will reopen in 2014.

With a smooth push, the Zephyr pulled out and we were on our way. My car was overseen by conductor Julia Thompson-Johnson of Chicago, a capable professional traveler. Amtrak’s conductors do far more than simply taking tickets; they are the masters of the rails, seeing to everything from extra blankets for toddlers in transit to midnight wake-up calls. I found myself a seat and watched out the window of the café car as the train pulled out of Denver’s freight yards and headed for the Rockies.

As we ascended up the Front Range, I noticed a group of people who looked as if they were from another century. They sported bonnets, dresses, and long beards for the men – members of the Mennonite religious order, as it turns out. Mennonites are similar in dress to their more well-known Amish cousins, and like them eschew most modern technology. However, their order permits them to travel long distances using trains, allowing this group to leave their native Ohio for sunny California. To these people, Amtrak is their primary link to the rest of the country – an essential service indeed.

As the train pushes into the Rockies, the terrain gets much more dramatic.

As we approached the Continental Divide, the mountains seemed to swell around us, as if they were trying to outsmart us, trying to trap the train in some nameless alpine crevice. Originally, trains on this route had to make a tortuous ascent up a 4% grade to the summit of Rollins Pass, well above timberline at 11,660 ft (3,554 m). Winter was not a kind season to the railroad, with blizzards stranding passengers in tens of feet of snow, even after a series of tall sheds were built over the tracks to protect them. By the early 1900s, the need for an alternative was apparent; the railroad was spending more than forty percent of its money on fighting the snow. Denver entrepreneur David Moffat had entertained the idea of a tunnel here as early as 1902, but it would take twenty more years of political and financial wrangling to make it a reality. The resulting masterpiece of civil engineering that would bear Moffat’s name was a 6.2 mile (10.0 km) long tunnel – straight through the Continental Divide.

The Zephyr approaches the Moffat Tunnel. It takes the train about six minutes to pass through James Peak.

Train #5 calls at Winter Park station, former terminal of the Rio Grande’s Ski Train – the last of the Grande’s passenger trains. The idea was simple: a train leaves Denver full of skiers in the morning, takes them straight to the slopes, and returns them to the city the same evening. The route survived under various owners until 2009.

The Colorado River begins in this high mountain valley, and the route of the Zephyr follows it from here to the edge of the Utah desert.

This stretch of the Colorado River is popular among whitewater rafters and kayakers like these. It is a tradition in these parts for rafters to salute passing trains with their rear ends – this group chose to refrain!

Ahead lay one of the most isolated parts of Colorado: Gore Canyon, a roadless chasm that nearly ran the railroad out of business trying to build through it. This canyon is inaccessable by any other means; only the Zephyr, a few hiking trails, and the Colorado River below allow people passage. This stretch of track was (and still is) an engineering marvel, with sheer drops, tunnels, and miles upon miles of rockfall sensors and fences. Rockslides in particular are a hazard here; in 1942, a huge steam locomotive hit a large slide while entering a tunnel here and derailed – straight into the wall of the tunnel, causing it to collapse and bury the engine until crews could dig it free. Our locomotives, however, remained firmly attached to the rails as we continued our climb through the heart of the Rocky Mountains.

D&RGW steam locomotive #1800 pulls an express passenger train through Gore Canyon in the late 1940s.

From here, our train follows the Colorado River along a rail line known as the Dotsero Cutoff. This shortcut allowed more than 200 miles to be shaved off the trip from Denver to Salt Lake City by connecting the Rio Grande’s main line through the desert of eastern Utah to David Moffat’s direct, tunnel-equipped line from Denver. This combination of routes proved its worth through longevity – it still carries thousands of tons of freight and passengers through the Rockies every month. The terrain changes here, too, as the jagged peaks of the central Rockies change to the weathered reddish sandstone and limestone of eastern Colorado.

The Zephyr takes a long curve along the Colorado River.

There are few places I’ve been to so far that even come close to the natural beauty of Glenwood Canyon. This rugged chasm in the Earth was carved out of the surrounding rocks by the Colorado River over eons, leaving some of the most spectacular land forms I’ve ever encountered. Since its first run in the late 40s, the California Zephyr has been specifically timed to pass through the canyon during the day regardless of direction, always giving its passengers an eyeful of western Colorado. Our train was no exception to this rule, and as we approached the canyon’s mouth, I gave up my seat on the upper deck of the car and found myself a spot next to a window in the lower vestibule – a window that conveniently opened, allowing me to indulge my habit of sticking my head (and camera) out of moving vehicles.

The sedimentary rocks that make up Glenwood Canyon also make this route particularly susceptible to rockslides. To prevent the inevitable accidents and derailments, the railroad devised a system of rockslide fences meant to warn oncoming trains. An electric current is passed through the wires guarding the track, and when a rock slide breaks the wires, the broken circuit trips a signal warning of the danger.

Julia Thompson-Johnson and the rest of the conductors sound the ‘All Aboard!’ at the Zephyr’s stop in Glenwood Springs, a city of nearly 10,000 people nestled in the heart of the canyon.

Ahead: the strange Utah desert – and a hot surprise! To Be Continued in Part 2…

soda and spiders and redbrick, oh my!

In industrial north Denver resides the oldest drain we’ve been able to find in Colorado yet. This product of the post-Depression Works Progress Administration was found a few years ago by a legend in Colorado draining by the name of Akron. Crystal Pepsi got its name from the fact that, according to draining lore, before the defunct beverage went under, 55 gallon drums of Crystal Pepsi were stashed in the drain for posterity. It also might happen to do with the close proximity of the Pepsi distribution warehouse to its outfall, but seriously, when has draining lore ever been wrong?

CP had been a kind of rumour in Colorado draining for a while, as it was talked about as a giant, old redbrick drain that went for miles beneath the soil of north Denver. Subciety, being lethargic as we usually are, put it on the backburner, and thought little about the legend.

Fast forward to June of 2007. Construction was proceeding on a drainage addition to Ferrill Lake in City Park, and secretdestroyers, our resident eastcoaster, had heard rumours of a big redbrick drain that was having surgery done on it, so after he and orogeny scoped it out, they summoned the drainers.

The team for the operation consisted of myself, lexiphoto, SD, and orogeny. Arriving at the museum in waders and festooned with lights and camera gear, we made our way over to the hole in the drain. 4 people with gear walking through City Park at 4.30 in the afternoon garnered a few odd looks from little tykes and their parents, but no matter. At least we aren’t the crack dealers and psychotic hobos I’m sure some of them are accustomed to seeing in the park. Over to the lake, where lo and behold, a drain in a hole!

lexiphoto and orogeny prepare their pants for the trials ahead.

Entry was a cakewalk, until we realized just how slippery the wet, old redbrick can be. Various forms of profanity filled the musty air, stale from age and the concrete dust of construction, until we regained our footing and proceeded into north Denver’s intestinal tract. The light at the end of the tunnel slowly faded until the dark of the underground enveloped us.

Ambient light in a drain? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS

CP’s main pull is the fact that it’s big. Really big. Most of the redbrick drains in Denver are 6 or 7 feet (about 2m) in diameter, max. Rivergate Hollows, Colorado’s finest, is a 15′ bored concrete tunnel for a good length. CP is nearly as big, about 12 feet in diameter…except it’s made of bricks. For a good 2 and a half hours, we slogged through this beast, the monotony of our splish-sploshing boots broken periodically by turns (which were even more slippery), and a few odd rooms where the RBP (Red Brick Pipe) had been cut away and intersected by 10″ steel pipes of some unknown purpose. A very odd manhole was also encountered, one which may very well lead into the tiger cage.

Zoo access? Hope it doesn’t open into the tiger enclosure.
(image courtesy of secretdestroyers)

Eventually, a break in the monotony: a junction! This provided the opportunity for much needed rest for our heroes, as well as plentiful photo ops. A date of build was also found here, which proved quite difficult to capture, as it was written upside down, and I had momentarily forgotten that Photoshop existed.

This drain brought to you by: the Works Progress Administration

From my second trip. Light assists by orogeny and RFBTesla. Click to view larger.

The outfall was a curious structure, with a corrugated steel roof with low hanging, rusty bits dangling from it like sharp icicles. Then came the real test: the spider gauntlet.

I have one weakness when draining: evil, evil drain spiders. I hate them. It’s my opinion that nothing on this earth should have more than six legs. So it was much to my dismay that the last 60 or so feet were a minefield of very big spiders and their drooping webs, threatening to cling to hair, camera bags, and whatever else they could get their spindly legs on. We managed to coax the valiant SD into using his tripod as an anti-spider device and charged through the gauntlet like a quartet of NFL linebackers, cursing like sailors as we went.

Upon exiting the drain, much to our chagrin, a solitary Denver Police officer walking his beat heard our stream of profanity directed at the spiders, and as we climbed up the embankment to our waiting chariot (we parked one of our cars at the outfall), he simply walked away chuckling to himself.