Don't be a Tourist Grump
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I have to admit, I can be a bit grumpy while caught on our mountain roads behind a slow moving tourist. The other day, I went down Big Thompson Canyon hitting a peak speed of 26 mph. I thought, don’t they see the slow vehicle pull off sign? Ahead of me, the car leading a line of twenty plus vehicles was a Mini-Cooper, a go-kart-like, retro-styled subcompact car.
When my sarcasm came out with, “Can they go any slower?” my wife calmly replied, “Brad, look at the car. They’re pedaling as fast as they can.”
The worst is when Old Fall River Road opens, and someone is pushing their limit at ten mph. They are either terrified of the heights or what might lurk deep in the forest or both, oblivious to the line of cars trapped behind them.
On Old Fall River, I always know where I want to go. It may be to capture a sunrise image above the treeline, a moose eating a breakfast of dew covered willows, or an elk grazing on the tundra. But on this one-lane, one-way dirt road, someone up-ahead who has never driven in the wilderness is going at a walker’s pace, keeping me from my destination.
When I hit Trail Ridge Road again, the gods of luck have worked against me. Up ahead, the same car from Old Fall River is putting along, thinking the middle yellow line is what they should be driving over. Horrified, they never dare to challenge the highway’s edge. Certain words tend to sneak out of my mouth while the radio plays 60’s songs like “Good Vibrations” to balance my attitude. Then I notice their license plate is Colorado red. Of course, a rental vehicle.
Earlier this spring, a funny thing happened on the way to any possible photo opp. As I traveled Bear Lake Road, along the edge were elk feeding. Big, beautiful, velvet antlered bull elk. A line of cars had already formed. Reminding myself to be patient, my mind kept saying, “Don’t they know better than to stop on the road?”
The first part of the answer was, “No, their tourists.” The second part of the answer came as the cars slowly began to move. Families driving from the opposite direction were hanging out the window. A young boy, maybe six, pointed and yelled at me, “There’s an elk.” His excited voice was full of wonder. Yes, there were elk. They were beautiful, and if you’re six years old and have never seen an elk, your vacation has just become fantastical.
I glanced at his parents. Dad was driving with a happy grin as he looked back over his shoulder. His wife was leaning across him as he slowed again. Her cell phone was up, and she was capturing pictures of the magnificent animal. Joining the six year old in the back window were a younger sister and older brother, all with big, happy smiles of amazement.
More cars passed, and the driver’s smiles made me smile. Each car inched along, unwilling to leave the elk as they grazed. It was a special moment for them, a moment of mountain discovery and wildlife like an American safari.
Car after car putting along, the occupants showed smiles that were of a special moment. For them, an elk on the side of the road was unique, powerful, and handsome. They had antlers that were four feet long, 20 pounds or more each, the likes of which they had never seen.
The experience that morning on Bear Lake Road made me reflect on my early visits to Rocky Mountain National Park. You know, when I was a tourist.
Once, years ago on Old Fall River Road just past Marmot Hill, there were two bull elk standing in the middle of the road. Side-by-side, they stared at me, both elk heads were full frame in my old Canon Rebel camera viewfinder. I parked in the middle of the road, jumped from the SUV, and began capturing beautiful images. Cars began to gather behind me, but I was unaware. Slowly, as the elk began to move, I slipped back into my vehicle, excited to have one of my first good elk pictures.
Today, I watch the tourist’s faces, see the smiles, and remember when I was one of them. I was a slow driving, camera welding, tourist with little understanding about mountain driving etiquette. My only focus was seeing the incredible wildlife of RMNP. I must have smiled just like the tourists I see today, big and happy over their discovery of elk along the road.
So, I have grown more patient, more appreciative of the slow moving, wide eyes, jumbo smiling visitor to our park. I once shared their smiles and still feel the same wonder of the views and animals in RMNP.
But…every now and then there is a tourist in the slow moving traffic who begins honking his horns. Horns I have little patience for, but that’s a whole nother article.
