the promised land

Two AM arrived at my seat in the form of our car’s conductor rousing me awake just outside Salt Lake City. I hazily gathered my things, picked up my pack from the baggage compartment on the first floor of the car, and waited along with a few others for the train to squeak to a stop. The doors hissed open, and out into the warm summer air we went. Some of my fellow passengers paused here for a smoke break; the departing train itself was no exception.


The Zephyr waits for fuel and a fresh crew in Salt Lake City before crossing the desert.

My friend (and recent Denver transplant) Aierell was waiting nearby with a car, and off we drove into the lonely streets of Salt Lake. At this hour, even Denver still has life within it: night shift workers out for a smoke, bar patrons stumbling home, street vendors selling them tasty late-night burritos and tortas. Here, there was only the quiet, dark streets; it seemed all of SLC was already tucked into bed for the night.

The next day, I decided to take in some local culture, so we headed down to the city’s focal point: Temple Square. Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (commonly referred to as Mormons) settled Salt Lake City in the 1840s, and this was one of the first plots laid out in their new city. In fact, three of the busiest streets in the city are all somewhat confusingly named Temple. The ten acre campus contains two visitors’ centres, a genealogy library, the Tabernacle (home to the world-famous choir of the same name), and the 1882 Assembly Hall among others. The square was full of large, well-dressed families, and a huge proportion of what appeared to be newly minted, smitten young couples. This is the holiest site in the Mormon religion; a temple which took forty years to construct. Entry into most of the buildings on the site is allowed to all visitors, but the temple itself requires both Mormon faith and a special church warrant. It is a fascinating place, to be sure.


The Salt Lake Temple from a nearby rooftop. The dome-shaped building behind it is the Tabernacle.


Temple Square during the capstone laying ceremony in 1892.

While impressive, Temple Square was also, frankly, a slightly weird place to be. Aierell and I were clearly outsiders, our relatively casual clothing and manner in contrast to the near black-tie attire worn by the masses of Mormon pilgrims. After learning about not only special Mormon underwear but Joseph Smith’s holy stones which allowed him to translate the Book of Mormon from a previously unknown ancient language, we frankly could use a drink. And, contrary to urban legend, there are actually bars in Salt Lake! It took us all of a block and a half down Main Street to find the cleverly named Beerhive (the beehive figures heavily in Utah’s symbology), where we encountered our first, albeit tiny, missionary at the bar’s icy rail.


I’d like to introduce you all to Elder George!

After tasting the fruit of the Beerhive, Aierell took me to feast my eyes upon a series of alleys near downtown which happen to contain some of Salt Lake’s finest graffiti art.


This elaborate mural of the Virgin Mary takes up the entire side of a four-story building.


Aierell poses in front of one of the graffiti walls.

We ventured south down State Street in the lengthening evening shadows until we arrived at a pub with a garage for a front door. The sign above said ‘The Republican’, and inside, the Irish flags draped on the walls left no doubt as to the theme – if ‘theme’ is the right word – of this bar. Yes, the beer and whiskey flows here in Salt Lake, although with some fairly arcane restrictions. The Mormon church, to which more than half of Utahns belong, preaches against the consumption of alcohol, and over time this belief was codified in Utah’s mind-bogglingly complex liquor laws.

For instance, every prospective bar patron’s ID is scanned with a handheld reader. If the ID is forged, the device informs the bartender immediately, and the wannabe drinker’s night is over in a hurry. Also, behind every bar is a small, black plastic donut with a hole the size of a bottleneck. When a mixed drink or a shot of hard liquor is ordered, the bartender takes the bottle down from the bar and fits the mouth of the bottle into the donut. Inside the donut is a tiny magnetic valve that meters out precisely one Utah shot – 1.5 fluid ounces (44.3 mL) of booze. This ensures that your friendly bartender can’t pour your drinks just a little stronger – to do so is illegal in Utah. So is serving a double: for example, it is legal to serve a whiskey sour with a shot of vodka on the side, but serving the same drink with a second shot of whiskey on the side is illegal. Happy hours and drink specials are illegal; prices must be fixed. Even outside the bar, liquor is heavily restricted. Booze, wine, and any beer stronger than 3.2% can only be purchased at state-owned stores – of which there are 44 in the whole of Utah. Also, if you’re having a party, you may want to plan ahead – most don’t stay open later than 7 P.M.

Aierell and I exited the Republican slightly more loopy than before, and headed to another bar in the Avenues, a part of town so called because of its street names – whereas most streets in SLC have somewhat cryptic numeric names (such as 300 East or 600 South), the Avenues have letters as well as numbers. This is one of the oldest parts of Salt Lake, and the bar was a relic, straight out of the late 60s lounge era. The clientele was anything but old however, mostly young hipsters out on a beautiful summer night. We closed the bar, made a few new friends in the neighbourhood, and called it a night. An apartment a few blocks away on K Street was our stop, and with the clock’s hands now well into the next day, I settled off to sleep. Tomorrow, I would head back across the Rockies to Denver the slow way – by bus.

The next morning came too early, and as the light began to creep across the city, Aierell and I made our way to the Greyhound station. Ahead of me lay 16 hours on Highway 40, almost all of it on two-lane mountain roads. I said my goodbyes to Aierell, and after one last tip of the hat, I was off, headed back to Colorado.

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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…