Chapter 12 Section 12

We're looking for a place called Taming Ridge.Oddly some names linger in the back of my memory.That's where Papa took me and Patty camping back twenty-five years ago.Someone in the furniture factory where Papa was foreman had lived in Colorado had described to Papa how beautiful the horse ridges were.So my dad, who had promised to take us camping in Colorado, decided to make that our destination.Thinking about that time, on the long road trip, I had a horrible vision of someone chopping a horse in half, I didn't know that cowboys tame horses so they could be ridden, for what we're about to see ,I am afraid.In the end, it was my father who asked me to express my concerns.After he explained it, my fear turned to curiosity.But when we arrived, there were no horses or cowboys, just some old wooden fences, a meadow stretching out into the lake and a grove of quivering aspens with peaks out of the woods.

I'll never forget that name, but when I was making plans with Patty and Jason, I couldn't find the place on the map.Finally, I had to call the Colorado park management.A national park ranger faxed me a much more detailed map than the one I had on hand, showing me the route to Taming Ridge.I spread out my facsimile map on the dining table, put my hands on the parts we were interested in, and showed Patty and Jason where we were going. We're almost there now, turn right onto Hwy 9.Drive north into the Alabajo National Forest. "It's hard from here, fellas. Take a map of our surroundings," I said.

Jason crawled into the front seat, and Patty buckled them both up with his seat belt. "What are we looking for?" Jason asked. "This squiggly line." Patty showed him the fax. "It should be a narrow dirt road on the right hand side, full of pine trees. We have to look closely, it's hard to find." I turned a corner and the trees grew thicker, but even so I thought I saw an entrance on the right.But I didn't say it, trying to wait for Jason to find it.Patty must know what I mean.I saw him look up from the map, his eyes locked a little, as if he saw the entrance, but he didn't say anything.

I drive closer. The intersection is already very clear. "There!" Jason pointed there, "I see it!" "Okay," Patty said. "Not bad," I added, "I almost missed it." I turned right and onto a rough dirt road.Low weeds grew between the ruts, bushes grew densely on both sides, and stretched pine branches formed a shade like a canopy. "My God, do you think we're going to get stuck?" Jason asked, leaning over with concern. "Not with this four-wheeler," Patty said. "It can handle worse terrain than this. Even if it snows, we don't have to worry about it."

"Snow?" Jason frowned. "In June?" "Of course," Patty said, "you still get snowstorms in the mountains this time of year." There were fewer trees. "Look at those peaks ahead, how much snow is there on them? Look up here, the sun hasn't melted the snow yet." With some sharp turnoffs, the zig-zag trail climbs higher.The slopes below are dizzyingly steep, with lots of bumps that only the cowboys who rode wild horses here in the early days would appreciate. "Who do you think built this road?" Jason asked. "It looks very old."

"Probably the Forest Service," I said, "maybe maybe it was built by loggers or riding cowboys before this area became part of the National Forest System. I remember Dad saying that there used to be cattlemen here who kept some livestock for supplies Prospectors in town." "Prospectors? Gold?" Jason asked. "And silver. That was a long time ago. Most of these towns are abandoned now." "Ghost Town," Patty said. "My God," Jason said. "There are some towns that have become ski resorts, too," I said, hoping that would restrain Jason's imagination so Patty and I wouldn't be woken up by his ghostly nightmares.

The road reached the top of the slope and took us to a lush meadow where young grass swayed in the gentle breeze. "I feel the same way Dad did when he brought us here," I told Patty. "After all these years," Patty marveled. "Are we still there?" Jason asked. This age-old question comes from the mouth of a child.I pictured Patty and I asking our dad the same question.We looked at each other and couldn't help laughing. "What are you laughing at?" Jason asked. "Nothing," Patty said. "No, we're not there anymore."