The story behind "Cottonwood Pass"

Joan and I were touring the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and had earlier visited Aspen. We were headed North to Interstate 70 when our GPS commanded "in nine-tenths of a mile, turn RIGHT onto C-ought-unwod-Paas Rode." Joan and I both knew that this was not the major way to get to I-70, but we had trusted "Jill" (our name for the female voice coming with the Garmin) on many other occassions and she had always gotten us there through some shortcut, so OK. A right turn at the town of El Jebel onto Cottonwood Pass Road.


The road was a two lane affair that took us through a neighborhood, but soon, the houses were far apart and the scenary was stunning. We were probably about 6500 feet when we left El Jebel, but now we were climbing higher past beautiful houses, built to capture the view. The name "Cottonwood Pass" indicated that we were going to ascend a mountain and then "pass" over it easily which we were prepared to do, but when the road turned from asphalt to gravel, I became a little concerned. And then, when the road became narrow and rutted as we went up the side of the mountain, my radar was on full alert, even though we were in a Jeep Commander.


Full alert radar went to Defcon 1 as Cottonwood Pass Road became one lane and steep as I picked my way slowly around large rocks that had washed down the ruts in the snowmelt. What happens if we meet another car coming the other way? What Happens if I have a Heart Attack? Who would find us in this wilderness if we slid off the road?


I turned on my cell phone. NO SERVICE ! That was it. I announced that we were going no further. Joan would not accept that we could not make it over the Pass and walked up to the next curve and disappeared around its bend. Returning, she reported that a landslide had taken the road over the side of the mountain; we had to turn around. Carefully executing a 23-point turn in a not-so-wide spot near us, I shifted gears to low as we crept back down Cottonwood Pass Road, not wanting to cause another landslide.


As we crunched our way down the incline, my imagination began piecing together a fictional story about someone who did slide off the mountain. Was he injured? Did he have wilderness skills? Would he die? Was he murdered? Who found him? Why was he killed?


When we got home, I jotted down some notes. In the fall, some four months later, I began working on "Cottonwood Pass."

RDG