The Last Crusade
As ridiculous fans of the Indiana Jones
franchise, we purposely detoured out of northern New Mexico to Antonito,
Colorado to catch the terminus of the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. Knowing we held tickets for the
Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad the next day, we opted against riding
the rails between Colorado and New Mexico, but we couldn’t miss the sight of
this old-fashioned locomotive carrying its passengers through the southern
slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Roughly
twenty years after the start of the American Civil War, the Denver and Rio
Grande Railroad laid tracks in support of the mining industry, but in our day,
we arrived here strictly as tourists catching a glimpse of a scene we recall
from a different period in history.
We inevitably find unique places to stop for a
photo moment and somewhere between Santa Fe and Antonito, a winery, a bridge
over the Rio Grande, and a nearly dwindled patch of mountain snow (see “The
Progression of a Snowball Fight,” January 2012) slow our journey to the
railroad’s end. But we spy the tracks
and follow them as best as the narrow roads through the mountains allow. When we stop at an inspiring outlook, we hear
the whistle blow in the distance, echoing off the peaking at our backs. We race onward in search of the historic
locomotive and its length of cars being pulled through the wilderness. And with winding swiftness, we gain on its
caboose and parallel its path for nearly a mile. When it bends westward, we push forward
attempting to get ahead of its steaming engine so we can watch its approach and
feels its thunder as it meets our vantage point.
As ridiculous fans of the Indiana Jones
franchise, we purposely detoured out of northern New Mexico to Antonito,
Colorado to catch the terminus of the Cumbres and Toltec Scenic Railroad. Knowing we held tickets for the
Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad the next day, we opted against riding
the rails between Colorado and New Mexico, but we couldn’t miss the sight of
this old-fashioned locomotive carrying its passengers through the southern
slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Roughly
twenty years after the start of the American Civil War, the Denver and Rio
Grande Railroad laid tracks in support of the mining industry, but in our day,
we arrived here strictly as tourists catching a glimpse of a scene we recall
from a different period in history.
The primary focus of seeing the train evoked
cinematic memories from the third (and as my sons’ believe, the final) adventure
of the archeologist named for the family dog.
The Cumbres-Toltec pulled a less-typical cargo of a circus train through
the Southwestern United States where a young Indiana Jones sought to elude treasure
hunters by hopping aboard the mountain train as it passes through a grassy
flatland. For us, seeing the locomotive
would be another movie moment on our vacation adventures (see “Field of
Dreams,” February 2013).
A Race Downhill
We inevitably find unique places to stop for a
photo moment and somewhere between Santa Fe and Antonito, a winery, a bridge
over the Rio Grande, and a nearly dwindled patch of mountain snow (see “The
Progression of a Snowball Fight,” January 2012) slow our journey to the
railroad’s end. But we spy the tracks
and follow them as best as the narrow roads through the mountains allow. When we stop at an inspiring outlook, we hear
the whistle blow in the distance, echoing off the peaking at our backs. We race onward in search of the historic
locomotive and its length of cars being pulled through the wilderness. And with winding swiftness, we gain on its
caboose and parallel its path for nearly a mile. When it bends westward, we push forward
attempting to get ahead of its steaming engine so we can watch its approach and
feels its thunder as it meets our vantage point.
We zip ahead and see a marked crossing where we
strategically position ourselves and prepare for its approach. First we hear the vibration of the rails
stinging from the weight and motion pulsing towards them. Next, we hear the engine pounding, chugging,
working less difficultly than it must have through the mountains, but
nonetheless exerting its force to move towards us. Then we see the mighty machine round a bend
to the north and the puffs of smoke are left hanging in its wake. Then as it approaches the crossing and the
road we previously skirted, it blasts its whistle, a sound unmatched by modern
technology, and a sweet reminder of the history behind this mode of
transportation. But it’s no longer a
mode of transportation, nor is it even a reminder of a historic era faded into
the past. For us, it is a piece of our
favorite adventurer claiming the Cross of Coronado and riding off into the
sunset. And once the engine and its full
length pass us, we hop back in our car and do the same.
