Old Fall River Road
The Rocky Mountains and a 3 hour drive back in time
Hey guys, I’ve been away for two week in Colorado; enjoying family time and a trip to the Rockies.
This article covers our day trip up Old Fall River Road; an ascent up a steep dirt road and not for the faint of heart. There’s a two videos and a few pictures, so if your email truncates the article, simply click on "View entire message" to read the rest in Substack. There’s also an audio version too, but check out the pictures either way.
Audio version: Old Fall River Road
Estes Park is a quaint and touristy mountain town outside Rocky Mountain National Park. It has a handful of ice cream shops that sell salt water taffy, a Sasquashy made to order mini-donuts house and a cinnamon roll bakery that’s so popular it sells out by 10am everyday.
The town name is familiar to me because it sounds the same as Sidse spelled backwards. In 7th grade it was a thing to figure out your name in reverse. If you had a lucky Palindrome name; Hannah, Ana and Bob, then you escaped the mockery. I was Esdis Llewop. I didn’t escape. I wasn’t fond of Esdis until I found this mountain town and fell in love with it.
It was early September. Samaia, my youngest daughter, turned twenty two weeks ago and we were on a three day, two night mountain adventure. It was a quiet Wednesday and if we were lucky, by evening we would be horseback riding in the park.
Before then, we were taking a scenic drive through the Rockies. We ate a blue egg and hash brown breakfast before we left, filled up our water bottles and grabbed our pound of salt water taffy for the drive.
We planned to get more snacks, but we’d slept in and had to make our 9-11am timed entry to the park. We drove west out of Estes Park for five miles and arrived at the Fall River Entrance Station to the Rocky Mountain National Park at 10:45. We were the second in line with no one behind us.
Once inside the park we drove two and half miles along Fall River Road, passed the pristine grassy meadows surrounding Sheep Lakes and when the road veered left, I slowed down and took a right onto Old Fall River Road. At this juncture, if you keep going straight, Fall River Road changes names to Trail Ridge Road.
Trail Ridge Road is called the “highway to the sky”, and is a popular two-lane paved road that rises to 12,183 feet and crosses the Continental Divide. I always thought the Continental Divide was the division of the continent, more or less in half. At some point in my adult life, when internet access made it easy to answer fleeting and random questions, I learned that it’s actually a hydrological dividing point in which rivers flow either west to the Pacific Ocean or east to the Atlantic Ocean.
We would be taking the Trail Ridge Road downhill. Instead of a steep climb on paved road, we opted for the road less traveled. Old Fall River Road. A one-way, eleven mile journey on a dirt road with the promise of spectacular views and an unforgettable experience.
There was no one else on the road, so I stopped the car and got out to take a picture of our no-turning back moment. I was a bundle of excitement. From here on out, I couldn’t change my mind no matter how precarious the road became, no matter how scared I was, no matter how difficult it felt, I must forge forward.
Why was I scared? Well, the elevation for one thing. Estes Park is at 7,522 feet. In a matter of hours we were driving to 11,796 feet. Altitude sickness can start around 8,000 feet, and according to the web, almost everyone who ascends quickly to 11,000 feet will develop Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), the mildest and most common form of altitude sickness. Symptoms include headache, nausea and vomiting, loss of appetite, fatigue, dizziness and vision changes.
I raised my altitude sickness concerns to Samaia.
Two years earlier, she got altitude sickness climbing a volcano in Guatemala. She was roped into the climb with her fellow Spanish immersion class as a fun weekend activity. Day one they camped at 12,300 feet. Day two they summited at 13,041 feet. It was a slog from her first step and she vowed to never hike again.
We weren’t hiking. We were driving the whole way. And, we wouldn’t even reach as high at her day one campsite.
“Maybe we’ll get a headache,” she said, “we’ll be fine.”
“True,” I responded, and we headed up the one-way, dirt road with no possible way to turn back.
I marked the odometer. I was driving my brother's car and we were at 10,840 miles. By 10,851 we would be at the Fall Pass Visitors Center. What awaited us in the next 11 miles remained to be seen.
My only knowledge of Old Fall River Road was from my brother who recommended the drive and lent me his car. He said it was a beautiful drive up the mountains and through meadows and most importantly it should not be missed. Once at the top, we would take Trail Ridge Road back to Estes making a long and windy loop through the Northern Rockies.
He left out a few things, or quite honestly, he might have said them but I didn’t hear anything past beautiful scenery and meadows. What I didn’t hear, or he didn’t say, was that it was a narrow dirt road with no guardrails and hairpin switchbacks that climbed up steep mountainsides.
Why no guardrails? The open air side of the road drops steeply off the mountain and there is no leftover ground to secure the guardrail. If you skid off the road, you’ll plummet into the tree tops hundreds of feet below.
The speed limit is 15 mph for a reason.
I learned first hand about the narrow road and steep ascent after the first hairpin turn. After two more steep climbs and tight switchbacks I was driving up the third incline when my hands began to sweat and I felt like throwing up. It wasn’t altitude sickness, it was my nerves.
The dirt road, carved out of the side of the mountain, looked even steeper and narrower. A rocky mountainside to my left and vast space to my right. The giant pine trees that make up the forest were somewhere below the drop off to my right. Straight ahead were blue skies. I couldn’t see it, but at the top of this incline, the road would turn left and I would traverse another hairpin turn. To me it looked like a trajectory off the mountain the way Thelma and Louise drove off the cliff.
I stopped the car and wiped the sweat off my palms. Whenever I have a view of driving up a steep hill with nothing but blue skies ahead I have a flashback to a paper I wrote my first year college. The assignment was to write my own obituary. I was 18 when I was asked to imagine the life I would lead and describe my demise.
In real life, at 18, I was already married. In obituary of my imagined life I was still married to the same guy, I had won a Nobel Peace Prize, cured cancer and raised four amazing children. My husband and I died tragically together, driving our convertible Porsche along a windy mountainside along the Mediterranean between Monaco and Italy. I was wearing sunglasses and a scarf when he took a turn too fast and we plummeted off the side of the mountain to our deaths.
So far, nothing in my obituary had come true. I hadn’t cured cancer or won a Nobel Peace Prize. I was no longer married to that guy and I raised three (not four) amazing children and I don’t own a Porsche. Despite all this real life evidence, I still have a fear of driving off a cliff and plummeting to my death. Thus my sweaty hands.
I looked at the odometer. It was still 10,840 miles. We haven’t even gone one mile. F***!
“Mom, you’re fine. There’s plenty of space,” said Samaia.
“There’s NOT plenty of space,” I said, my voice wavering.
“Do you want me to drive?” she said.
“NO,” I said, gripping the steering wheel with my sweaty hands.
“You’d be more scared if I drove,” she said.
“Yep!” I said, not looking at her and restarting the ascent uphill. It’s tough to enjoy the scenery when you’re tightly focused on a narrow road and not dying.
Samaia rolled down the window to take a video. I could feel her smiling. She wasn’t the least bit worried. John Denver was serenading us with Rocky Mountain High, and the cool mountain air tried to reassure me.
If you watch the video, check out the edge of the road.
I said a little prayer of desperation, “Heavenly Father, please help us get up this road safety. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Wow, “heavenly father?” your Mormon roots really come back when you’re scared,” she said.
“I suppose so,” I said. My reply was monotoned and focused.
After that little prayer, I relaxed a bit. For the past 20 years I’ve built a one on one relationship with a higher power. Once in a while, I call him Heavenly Father. Sometimes I just say, Hi God. Sometimes it’s Dear HP.
My hands were still sweating and I was still hyper-focused on the road but I felt less jittery. I knew it must be a beautiful view even though my sights were set on the golden dirt road and a ledge I was avoiding.
About six switchbacks into the drive Samaia told me some cars were coming up behind us. Up to that point we hadn’t seen anyone. I pulled tight into the next switchback and we watched three cars carefully maneuver their way past. It was comforting to see other vehicles braving the road.
We continued on until we found a pull out near a meadow. I parked and we got out and wandered over to the Fall River that flows east toward the Atlantic Ocean.
Samaia called me over, “Mom, a deer.”
I climbed up from the river to where she was standing. About twenty feet away was a beautiful golden and tan deer. Samaia and the deer were having a stare down contest. The deer, like Samaia, wasn’t nervous at all. She didn’t move away and instead went back to eating.
We were walking quietly around her when she started walking directly toward us and making a low hoot calling noise.
A few moments later, a baby deer came bouncing up the path back to mama. They started walking together when a car drove past and scared the baby deer away.
We climbed back in the car. “That was magical,” said Samaia.
“That was worth the drive already,” I said.
We had 9.5 miles to go.
It got easier. There were stretches of the drive with solid ground on each side of the road. I started to enjoy the trip. We missed Chasm Falls, a beautiful waterfall between two rocky cliffs, because all the spots were taken by other cars. We drove on.
At six miles we came to another spot with cars parked alongside the road. This time we found a space and took the walking path up to Willow Park Patrol Cabin. A cabin used regularly during the construction of Old Fall River Road from 1913 to 1920. The cabin sat in a valley below the alpine tundra of the Rockies. Within view, we could see a long building atop a mountain. In another five miles, we would discover this was The Fall Pass Visitors Center. It felt like a hundred miles away and we were a hundred years in the past.
We walked a path to the creek, past a giant pile of cut firewood and jumped the stream to explore the other side. There were a few cut logs propped up as makeshift chairs to enjoy the scenery.
“I can see you living here,” said Samaia
“So can I,” I said, wondering if she was reading my mind as I imagined sitting on a log and sipping a hot cup of coffee on a cold crisp morning.
We wandered around a while longer before reluctantly making our way back to this century, climbing back into our hybrid vehicle and traversing the last five miles of narrow dirt roads.
There was one final stop before the last climb to the Visitors Center. Chaplin Creek Trailhead. We parked across from a deep blue pond surrounded by lush grass. Hardy souls were climbing the trailhead. Samaia stayed in the car and I hiked up a short rocky incline for a view of another valley. We were almost at 11,796 feet. I was a little winded, but it gave my palms a break from constant sweating before our final ascent.
We finished the climb with one more switchback. The drop off was its usual steepness, but this time we were above the tree line so the steep drop off was into the low grasses, rocks and dirt of the alpine tundra.
Tall stakes made from thin trees flanked the road. As we moved into the visitor center area, workers were collecting and installing these stakes. Winter is coming and these stakes are road markers for the snow plows. In the winter the rockies get upwards of 18-25 feet of snow. Without these markers, trying to find the Trail Ridge Road in a winter wonderland would be impossible.
We stopped at the Fall Pass Visitors Center. Neither of us had a headache and both of us had no appetite. Between us we’d probably eaten six salt water taffy’s. We bought a few stickers and decided against coffee. I was a little dizzy. We should descend.
The beauty of Old Fall River road, the fear, the deer and the cabin would stay with me, but I was relieved to be on paved two lane road for the drive home. My relief lasted about 30 seconds. I turned left out of the visitors center, onto Trail Ridge Road and started a climb out of the valley to crest another mountain. To my right was another drop off with no guardrail. Good lord this adventure never ends.
“You know, evolutionarily, it makes no sense that your hands sweat when you’re scared,” I told Samaia as I wiped my hands on my jeans for the hundredth time as we drove up to 12,090 feet. “If I need to hold tight to this steering wheel and my hands are wet, my grip is loose. How does that help? It doesn’t. What about Gwen (my sister) if her hands sweat when she’s rock climbing the side of a mountain its life threatening. It doesn’t make sense. Why would our bodies do that?!!!!”
“I don’t know, but you’re fine mom, you got this,” she said.
“I’m happy that you’re not nervous. It would be awful if we were both as scared as I am.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
The highway speed increased to 35 mph on the long stretches and down to 15 again on the curves. Once in a while we had a blessed guardrail. Most of the time it was missing.
When Trail Ridge Road ended we switched our exit and took highway 36 back toward the Beaver Creek entrance and then back to Estes Park. Before we exited the park a gathering of Elk slowed traffic to standstill. We drove past the masses of people taking photos and made it back to our hotel room at 3pm. Five hours later.
We ate some great BBQ, rested and left again at 4:30 for a one hour horseback ride in the Rocky Mountains.
After all was said and done. It was a beautiful day and we survived. I wished I had a better view than a dirt road, but I’m happy we stayed on it.
Sweaty palms, a racing heart and adrenaline fueled fear was the price for an idyllic drive back in time.
Starting in October, Old Fall River Road closes to all vehicle traffic for the season.
From October 7th - October 9th and again from October 14 - November 30th, Old Fall River Road is open to bicyclists, hikers and walkers with leashed pets.
On December 1st, Old Fall River Road is open to hikers and snowshoers.
Next time, I think I’ll hike.
It turns out, palm sweating is advantageous because having some moisture on your hands gives you a better grip. The key here is “some moisture”. You know those people that spit in their hands to give them better grip? That’s the analogy, but in my case, palm sweating was more like a river and less like sticky dew. In other words, no help at all.
I don't think I've had sweaty palms. Probably because my head produces so much water during stress there's nothing left for the hands.
This story is very vivid and is written from two perspectives. The driver who has to literally sweat it out on a two skinny lane road and her younger calmer daughter. The two perspectives could almost be her dueling emotions or her motherly instincts vs her own fearless self when a teenager.
The fear side is one any of us can relate to in a multitude of prior experiences. The calm side is (usually) the perspective of expectations prior to any event and hopefully the perspective of a survivor.
Good job Sidse.