Leaving extreme southwestern Colorado, the major roads ran north-south, seemingly on account of it being easier than cutting across the Rockies. They also curved west while going north in a lot of cases, while Clarkson & I were looking to go directly northeast to Denver.

In hindsight, I'm frustrated with how little research I spent on our Colorado route. It wouldn't have even been that hard either, since I have Colorado friends who would have said this or that town wasn't to be missed.

Part of the reason I slacked here is that everywhere I dropped the Google StreetView guy in Colorado, I discovered another picturesque town. It was overwhelming to try and pick out the coolest towns and sights over a huge swath of the state.

So instead, the route basically went that there was a National Park in Colorado I wanted to see, so I simply looked at the GPS and pointed us that way from Monument Valley in Utah.

Without any planning or research, that's how we happened upon Rico, a sleepy little mining town that I instantly loved while slamming on the brakes for a walkabout.

It was a shame we just ate and it was much too early for beer, because I was all in on the only source of activity here in Rico (the Enterprise Bar & Grill). In fact, with better research we could have been sleeping here last night and walking these empty dirt streets back to our lodge after a couple of pool games and cold ones at the Enterprise.

The name Rico comes from the Spanish word for rich & these hills were rich with silver and subsequent mining claims. The rugged landscape initially kept many away, but with the arrival of the Rio Grande Southern Railway from Durango in 1891, Rico blossomed into a town of 5000. At the formation of Dolores County in the same year, a log cabin courthouse was built here and replaced soon after by the sandstone beauty you see above, constructed in 1892.

Up to and into the 1940s, mining had diminished in the area and more people were using the farmland abutting the Utah border, over in western Dolores County. With this shift in power between mining-based Rico and the farming community of Dove Creek, residents then held a vote to move the courthouse and county seat. Today the Dolores County Courthouse is a bland, elementary school-looking building in Dove Creek, while the old county courthouse in Rico sat vacant for nearly 10 years, before becoming the Rico Town Hall and community library.

Rico's low point came in the 1970s when the population hit 74, but its had a small resurgence of late and is now up to approximately 300 people. Interest in revitalizing this community is growing and you also have people living here and commuting to the nearby town of Telluride.

I can see how some people would enjoy Rico because of an infatuation with mountains, but Clarkson knows that's not me and therefore my love for this place confused him.

I'm a big fan of well-demarcated, lonely towns and villages. In places like Texas, rural Michigan, Ontario or here in Colorado, there's long stretches of highways with nothing but empty landscapes until you eventually reach this singular place, a collection of buildings bundled together out on its own. I like a village like Rico because its not next to some other town, or poorly defined with a bunch of sprawl on its edges. There was the welcome to Rico sign, the obvious village, then it was done just as quickly as it started. It felt like a destination and a place where we arrived, not just a quickly passing scene.

It's not only a love for isolated villages either, but villages that are sleepy, obscure and have great buildings still standing from long ago. Rico satisfied all of these things & would still satisfy these things if you picked it up and plopped it away from the mountains in a field in Southwestern Ontario, or on the Llano Estacado of Northwestern Texas.

Noticing an abandoned house, I couldn't help prolonging and giving further weight to my time in Rico, by exploring something while I was here.

Disappearing on Clarkson, I could hear him hollering and looking for me from the street. Sticking my head out of the missing living room window, he informed me that there was a No Trespassing sign.

"Oh no shit, eh Clarkson?" I replied mockingly, amusing myself.

As much as I try to be Mr. Cool Guy when it comes to mountains, the scenery was incredible before and especially after Rico. It was the type of scenery where, when near the top of an incline and slowing down, you might as well pull over and get out of the car for a few minutes. The fact that the traffic wasn't heavy didn't hurt either, as when we needed to use the washroom we decided to simply take advantage of the tranquility and scenery by pulling over and wandering a short distance into the woods.

It's also a good time to admit that with my unfamiliarity with Colorado, I partially wanted to stick to the major roads. As much as I say it was quiet, we were still on the three-digit Colorado-145 highway, so this wasn't some backroad where I was worried it was going to turn to gravel at any moment. In hindsight, it was a perfectly safe and well-maintained highway & we could have upped the obscurity and the remoteness of our route even further.

For how much I lament being overwhelmed with research of Colorado towns, we hilariously ended having lunch in a town I didn't particularly enjoy, Telluride.

Right from the start, we suddenly had to slow down to 10 mph as trendy shops lined the street and a ton of foot traffic appeared. Stopping for lunch, the place didn't have wait staff which I guess was supposed to be trendy or futuristic, but all I saw was a hacky way for the owner to pocket more money. As for lunch itself, the food was decent, but every conversation we overheard involved people having pissing contests about who went on crazier adventures of late, mannnnnnnn.

As much as I'm not a fan of mountain villages, I could see I was ruining Clarkson's time by being so salty so I tried to stop. I instead appreciated Clarkson's giant pretzel, the coffee truck was run by a gorgeous Australian girl and their San Miguel County Courthouse was equally gorgeous.

There. I won't ruin Telluride for you as well.

The rest of the day was spent racing towards Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, one of the more remote national parks of the lower 48, and one that I wanted to see for its obscurity and beauty.

Looking at pictures prior to this trip, the views were stunning enough that I didn't think this visit was solely obscurity for obscurity's sake. Nearby Mesa Verde National Park might've satisfied that, but I was pretty confident that Black Canyon would be worthwhile.

National Parks appeal to me because they're one of those things that are spread out over an area, they're worth visiting, and they have a concrete number you can check off a list. And flirting with counting the number of national parks I've visited, I feel like I have to hike at least a short trail in order for each park to count.

Therefore, after stopping at the visitors center and grabbing a pamphlet, we settled on the 1.5 mile long Oak Flat Trail, which would dip down slightly and provide an even more overwhelming view of the forbidding canyon of gneiss and schist.

Rain dotted the windshield throughout the winding road that climbed up to the visitor's center and the sky was now dark as we started hiking. Instead of checking with the park rangers for weather forecasts or playing it safe, we found ourselves already down the steep trail as thunder began to crack nearby. My mind went back to my knowledgeable and experienced Colorado friends who cautioned Arntz & I back in 2010, that high elevation storms in Colorado are no joke and repeatedly stressing how you need to immediately head back if they arise.

I remembered this as we passed the last town and raced towards the national park. I remembered this and still led Clarkson up here, only now realizing that I'd make a pretty shitty army general.

It started to rain more than spit. Picking up our pace, we tried to return up the hill, but my old nemesis elevation left me wheezing and struggling. Clarkson seemed alarmed with my breathing, but I had to open-mouthed gasp if we were going to keep any kind of pace and get off this Oak Flat Trail.

Fighting through inclines while taking zero pictures and barely appreciating the surroundings, it then stopped raining and went back to the occasional peck. The sky remained dark but the thunder laid off and we were spared from hunkering down on a wet and cold hillside. Soon enough we popped up into the parking lot and I breathed in as if a doctor had a stethoscope to my chest, then happily flopped my arms and elbows onto the roof of the car.

We continued down the road to another overlook, this one with a rocky outcrop and a great view right down the canyon. It was time to go, but Black Canyon Of The Gunnison was certainly worth the stop.

From the national park, we lost about 1700 feet down to the highway and then drove an hour over to the town of Gunnison. We'd seen a couple of interesting "western" motels along the way so far, but not so many that I was confident we'd find another. Thankfully Gunnison had a great old western motel conveniently named...the Western Motel!

It wasn't the craziest old neon sign, but it was good enough for me. Also, while the room was dated, Clarkson was pleased that there weren't any apparent bedbugs.

Going out for a bite to eat, Gunnison wasn't as crazy touristy or outdoorsy as Telluride, but the main street was in good shape and occupied by many small businesses. It didn't have the overwhelming mountainous beauty, but it seemed like a pleasant, if sleepy, stopover point for people touring around Colorado.

My favourite thing had to be when our restaurant was closing and seeing how interested we were in the playoff hockey game, our waiter asked us why we weren't going upstairs to the bar. Well, we didn't know there was a bar upstairs! The only problem was that the owner was a Pittsburgh transplant and obviously cheering for the wrong team.

Another problem arose soon enough, in that the two teams kept playing further into overtime and we had to get going.

Back in Telluride earlier today, we went into a store selling herbs which was a whole new experience. And while I'm not particularly interested in herbs and wouldn't have went myself, I enjoyed it because of how strange it was in hardass, bible-thumping America.

As well as the shop being interesting in terms of contradicting Nancy Reagan's American dream, it was discombobulating to walk home from the bar in the absolutely silent Gunnison night, and witness someone enjoying such things casually, without Jeff Sessions and the Feds showing up in 17 Escalades.

(Back at the motel, we'd learn that the Penguins won it in double overtime and were headed back to the Stanley Cup finals. Congrats to Steve and that Gunnison bar owner.)

Waking up in Gunnison, we needed to get to Denver quickly as there wasn't much time to spare. This meant that we went through Leadville again, a place I'd been previously when I hiked to the highpoint of Colorado and also 4 days prior when I went to a nearby abandoned mining town. It's funny how random chance can bring you back to the same distant place.

Skipping over a different route because I knew going through Leadville would get us to Denver quickly, we still were running late after we arrived, dropped off the car and decided to walk to our motel. Clarkson was really looking forward to getting to the motel and chilling out, not to mention having time to get to Coors Field early, so he wasn't overly impressed with my schedule that had little time for either of these things.

Regardless, at the sight of this Black-crowned Night Heron, I didn't care how much of a rush Clarkson was in because I had to stop and appreciate this magnificent bird; especially as he we was casually perched, right along this urban creek flowing past a running trail, not a care in the world about the nearby humans.

Cutting down on motel time, we hurried over to the ballpark area and found a vibrant district like the promise of every sports owner who needs tax dollars funnelled to them and away from roads, schools or police.

In Denver things were done a bit differently though, with the city having the foresight in the 1980s to create a historic district here after 20% of the old buildings had already been demolished. Creating this LoDo district - and actually giving the legislation teeth - meant that the old warehouses and neighbourhood feel would be preserved, even as out of state developers have tried to sue the city to be allowed to build giant skyscrapers and those ugly, cheap townhouses in this district.

Coors Field helped all of this out by not flattening a whole area, but rather building onto the edge of the LoDo District where the city had encouraged consolidation of the Central Platte Railyards. The Rockies did demolish a few buildings judging by historic aerial photos, but with Coors Field here, now you have a sport the city loves, adjoining a lively district of hotels, bars and homes. And while Denver has boomed in the 2010s, the value of these homes in the LoDo district has risen to an even greater extent, with the average home now being worth $700,000.

Sadly, for me this was a return trip to Coors Field as I came here all the way back in 2007 with The Fondelah. I remembered next to nothing about the ballpark from that trip so long ago, especially since we arrived after first pitch, bought random tickets, drank beer in our seats and then hurried back to the car.

(Kayla was unimpressed with us since I couldn't drive afterwards and left her to drive across Kansas through the night. 10 years later, admittedly this was maybe a dick move, lol.)

Denver is a great city though and Coors Field was gorgeous, so I was more than happy to return and fill in the gaps. The only reason I said this return visit was sad, was because it gives Clarkson one of the stadiums I don't have, allowing him to make up ground.

Then again, Coors Field only brought the score to 26-21, so I'm not too concerned.

I racked my brain trying to remember anything from this stadium 10 years ago, but it wasn't happening.

I guess that sort of made it feel like a new stadium...which means now I'll never run out of new stadiums to visit!

Clarkson loved Coors Field and with how I had Nolan Arenado in fantasy, we both cheered for and were pleased with the Rockies victory over the Cardinals.

As for food, neither of us were terribly hungry and only grabbed a few ballpark dogs that had jalapenos and hot sauce on them, which were obviously quite hot. The meat wasn't all that hot though, so they're not really worth recommending.

Following the game, it seemed like everyone spilled out and into one of the nearby bars.

It was a Friday night and the area was absolutely bumping, even as we left our original bar and wandered a few blocks over to an area we thought might be dead, but was also extremely busy.

This second bar messed me up though as the drink special was a PBR and a shot of Kraken. After drinking at the ballpark for hours, the last thing I needed was a special on 47% spiced rum. In addition, we got to talking to some girls, but after stepping outside with them, the next thing I know I was sticking my fingers down my throat to induce vomiting while we walked down the main strip and Clarkson was confused as to where the girls went.

We woke up the next day lethargic and lacking motivation.

Our Ramada had awful WiFi, so we had to do old school things like watch The Weather Channel for conditions and go to the lobby in order to ask them to call us a cab. Each of these feats felt monumental when we finally managed them. There was some talk of going to an afternoon soccer game, but the local Colorado Rapids played at one of those stadiums out in the middle of nowhere and thankfully we didn't try to powerhouse through a long cab ride or a 90 minute bus ride.

Rounding into passable form in the late afternoon, we decided on going to tonight's baseball game as well. Standing up, Clarkson now went to put on his sunglasses at 5pm, but then realized he somehow traded his sunglasses last night. He wasn't very pleased with this $6 pair acquired in his drunken stupor.

Walking back into downtown Denver, Clarkson spotted an arcade bar and got really excited as we walked in, but my head just couldn't handle the bells, horns and rattles of the interior. We had to go somewhere else.

Going back up the street, there was an upscale Mexican place that was a bit funny to walk into, but we only needed somewhere to grab a drink before tonight's game. Hurting and not feeling too lively just yet, we were seated by a giant wooden sign that proclaimed they wouldn't serve anyone more than 3 margaritas. Feeling like proper degenerates while enticed by this, we ordered mango margs and found out the reason for this restaurant's rules. The sugar helped us sure, but soon enough we were laughing and tiredly having a good time in this place where we were so underdressed.

We didn't even try to get a third margarita, two were more than enough.

Instead of shoehorning in that soccer game and missing part of the baseball game, it was great to get back to Coors early and casually, grabbing some great tickets and chilling out in another fine Denver evening.

Along the way we decided on trying out the concourse pitching cage.

Now while watching Joba Chamberlain and Aroldis Chapman throw 101, I've always figured I have to be able to throw 70 mph or so. Nope. It was actually hilarious how consistent I was, as I threw a casual first pitch that was 54 mph, then tried to put some mustard on it...54 mph, then tried hard enough to hurt my shoulder slightly...54 mph. Where Chapman consistently hits 101, I guess I consistently hit 54.

Although this picture doesn't show it, Clarkson had a better arm than me. He got into the low 60s once or twice (attn: Al Avila).

Following the game, Denver was such an awesome place to go out that we did it again, staying out late and getting on 'er into the night.

We would pay come morning as our cell phone alarms rang so quickly that it didn't seem possible those scant few hours had already passed. Thankfully our Ramada was near the train station, but Clarkson's face just about sums up the state we were in.

An overheated train out to the distant airport accented by loud talkers wasn't what we needed, and although I never take Gravol because of my strong stomach, it was rough enough that I was feeling stomach sick while also profusely sweating.

At the airport we were sadly headed to different terminals, but in the rushed confusion of busy airport tunnels, Clarkson & I both agreed it was an excellent trip before parting ways. As Clarkson wants to save California for a special personal trip, we're running out of places to go, but I have to be thankful this trip was so long and excellent. I can't wait for Atlanta/Florida and hope it happens in 2019.