Yesterday's highlight, or lowlight, depending on how you look at it, was the drive over the nation's highest continuous highway, Trail Ridge Road. Lower down, there was a sign that the altitude of the highway was at 2 miles above sea level: 10,560 feet. The drops off the side of the road looked like if you fell off, you'd free fall the entire two miles and land with a splash. But that was in a forested area, and then we were above timberline, on a thin piece of asphalt, barely two lanes wide, with zero shoulder for miles, and it really got scary.

Here is someone's video.



It's not as bad from the passenger's seat where the videographer was sitting, because you can see over the edge a bit, but for the driver, all you see is road edge and infinity, and you've no idea where your right side tires are. Fortunately, there was almost no traffic so I could straddle the center line most of the time.

One of the worst parts was when the drivers of vehicles pulling loaded horse trailers coming westbound into the setting sun were holding their hands up trying to shield their eyes enough to see the road. They could easily have veered into my skimpy little lane on a curve. And I was driving a fat-ass full size pickup.

I did not take pictures of my own (okay, maybe a couple), but I don't know how they came out) because there was no leeway if the wheel wandered me over out of the lane of traffic. I was gripping the wheel like grim death, and driving with all due haste to get off of that mountain before dark. Maybe dark would have been better - I wouldn't be able to see the drops.

This is the second or third time I've driven that route by myself, and it has not improved since the last time, but I was younger and more daring those many years ago . I swear I'll never do it again. But never say never.