How do you tell friends “good bye, thank you, we hope we won’t see you again today, but it was great seeing you?” In our case it kind of made sense. If the van got fixed, we’d be on our way. If it needed surgery, we’d be back.
Only one way to find out.
This turned out to be an interesting moment for Julia and Kellan. They knew that I was stressed about the van. If it got fixed quickly, Dad would be happy again and we would all be on our way, continuing the road trip. But if there was a problem, well, that wouldn’t be too bad either. Another night (or two, or three?) with friends who danced and a trampoline. That wouldn’t be so bad. Except maybe for the bear.
The night before, all of the kids had insisted on sleeping outside in our tent. Five of them had packed into the tent and Perky, knowing that there was a bear who had been investigating the area recently, took the precaution of climbing into a smaller auxiliary tent, armed with her trusty canine companion Caddis and some pot lids to scare any visiting bears away. One look at Perky in the morning and it was clear the bear had made a visit. I, having slept inside on a nice soft bed, oblivious to the outside world, immediately felt a bit guilty.
The front yard camping scene looked peaceful enough to me.
It seems that everyone else but Perky and Caddis had slept through the huffing of the bear and the requisite clanging of the pot lids. Fearing a return visiit, Perky slept the rest of the night with both eyes and both ears open. The kids thought it was both scary and cool that they had spent the night in a tent with a bear around. I’m pretty sure none of them thanked Perky, so here is the official THANK YOU!
We rolled down through Lyons and into Boulder, passing about 100,000 cyclists riding along Highway 36. I arrived at the shop to find out that the Sprinter Master Tech was not in today, but I spoke with the next best person: the owner and chief technician, Dana. I explained the problem and my theory and handed him the part. Julia and Kellan and I retired to the customer lounge to consume as much free wi-fi and Doritos as we could before someone came in with the news.
It was good. The van was ready to go. The technician had opened the hood, removed the airbox, and started looking for the orange gasket to replace. Only the old gasket wasn’t there. At all. He installed the new gasket, fit everything back together, and the van was running just fine. One half hour of labor later, we were on the road again. Of course, I started asking myself a lot of questions. Did the dealership in Middlebury just lose the gasket? (Likely) Was it installed loosely and got sucked through the turbo? (Unlikely and would be super bad). Did the technician here not know what he was looking for and put the gasket in the wrong place? (Shudder).
I was kind of disappointed that I hadn’t been able to get all of my computer work done in the lounge before the van was ready, but we were ready to travel again, so travel we would.
Prestige parking. Serviced and ready to go. The shop specialized in Delorians. You can see one in the background.
We backtracked from Boulder to Lyons and continued on to Estes Park. This entry village to the Rocky Mountain National Park seemed to have the same tourist-oriented honky-tonk atmosphere of Lake George Village. Which is fun if you’re in the mood, but otherwise highly disappointing for its tackiness. We moved along to the park entrance, purchased our annual pass (only $80 for a year, all national parks) and took our place in line for the 48 mile parade up and over the continental divide. It was really cool to see Julia and Kellan’s reaction to the terrain. As we gained altitude, saw snow and peered over precipices, they were in awe. The scale was almost incomprehensible to them. We stopped in a pull out where we feared that all three of us and the van would be thrown into the void by the wind.
Hey Julia, hang on to Kellan so he doesn't blow away!
The traffic was astounding. We were in a line of cars the entire way. And when we passed the campgrounds, they were like grassy parking lots. Yes, the mountains and the alpine environment were cool to see, but I couldn’t wait to be released from the clamps of the RMNP vice.
Sorry folks, Park's full. The visitor center traffic jam at the top of Trail Ridge Road.
The four of us.
Luckily, Graham had given us some route suggestions for after we left the park. Our destination for the evening was Wolcott, CO on I-70, best known for its ironically named restaurant, the Wolcott Yacht Club. The late afternoon evening drive over Gore Pass was sublime. Beautiful remote roads with a low sun angle. The stuff stock photos are made of.
Need a photo for an atlas cover? Step right up!
Windows down, radio up!
We eventually arrived at the WYC. Our server, Emma, asked more questions than your average waitress, which made the experience much more than just a meal stop. She also allowed us to ask her questions in return. In retrospect, we should have asked why this restaurant was named the Wolcott Yacht Club, but the most pressing concern was finding a spot to camp nearby.
Welcome to the Keys.
Kellan ate the “most amazing fish tacos ever” and I have to say that if you are ever traveling across I-70, put this place on your itinerary as a mandatory stop. Farm to table at the only restaurant off a random exit in CO that knows what it has and is confident enough to name itself a yacht club. No boat shoes required.
Emma suggested a small turnout campsite just up the road a ways. The campground was sandwiched between the Colorado River and I-70 but it met our criteria for the night: close and cheap.
Sleeping in a van down by the river.
We snagged one of the last available campsites and put our $10 in the box. Hearing the highway noise just above us, we elected to spend our first night ever in the van. It required a bit of rearranging, but we all had a quiet place to sleep.