Million Dollar Highway to Ouray

When we told people at our campground in Durango that we were going to be driving our rig over the mountains to Ouray, Colorado, they said, "Are you sure you want to do that?"  That road has a reputation as one of the most frightening drives in America.  We were told that it's a narrow two lane highway, with no shoulders, no guard rails, switchbacks, and dropoffs which if taken send you straight to eternity. 

But, I thought, how bad can it be?  In fact, I'm pretty sure that Nancy and I drove it forty years ago in the little motorhome we had back then, without incident.  Not far out of Durango, heading north, the road narrowed, and the edges sloped away to nothing, but it didn't seem too bad.  Most likely the dangers had been overstated.  I asked Nancy, "Are you skeered?"

"No", she said, "but if a fly starts buzzing around, I'm not handing you the flyswatter."  She was remembering some erratic driving last year when I tried to terminate a pesky insect loose in the motorhome at 60 miles an hour.

Then we reached Silverton, an old mining town halfway to Ouray.  And the road - the so-called Million Dollar Highway - became more treacherous - narrower, with near vertical cliffs falling away just past the outer edge of our lane.  Nancy said that she had to stop herself from looking down, because she was getting dizzy and a little nauseated.  It wasn't so bad for me, the driver, near the center line, but at one point there was road work, down to a single lane, and I had cold chills as I looked down the precipice to my left, no more than a foot between us and a plunge to the river a thousand feet below.

Then the switchbacks began.  At one point there were four of them linked together.  Many were so sharp that it was difficult to keep the motorhome and towed vehicle within the lines, and once the back end of a big truck approaching us was in our lane.

Three times we climbed above 10,000 feet in elevation, and once above 11,000 feet.  This is where we had a motorhome lunch at one of those mountain passes.

I was proud of our engine.  It was noisy going uphill, and many times we were limited to 25 miles an hour, but it never faltered, never overheated, never exploded. 

Finally we headed down into Ouray, a beautiful little town in the prettiest natural setting I've ever seen. 

Our campground was just a few blocks from the main drag.  We took the dogs for a walk into town and were charmed by the small town atmosphere - the warmth and friendliness of the people, the cute stores and shops, the magnificent vistas. 

Ouray is at 7792 feet elevation, which means that you get a little short of breath as you walk uphill, but it also gives you a quite wonderful clarity of vision.  It's as if the mountains and everything else are in high definition.

Hiking back to our motorhome, a little boy in an upstairs window of the RV park office dropped his pants and mooned us, and he repeated the performance for each car that drove past.  Nancy considered telling the campground owner, but I was hesitant to restrict the artistic expression of a young person.

I don't have a photo of that incident.