Snowing on Raton
Tomorrow the mountains will be sleeping
Silently their blanket green and blue
I shall hear the silence they are keeping
I’ll bring all their promises to you
It’s snowing on Raton
Come morning I’ll be through them hills and gone
--Townes Van Zandt, Snowing on Raton
Since Boy Scout days I've heard people complain about sleeping outdoors, including more than a few who claim to be experienced campers. They're bothered by everything from wind and rain and the lack of heat to the sounds of creatures rustling in the darkness. I'm not one of those people; some of my best sleep has come in the wilderness. Camping in overgrown grass behind an old motel barely fifty yards from the highway is hardly roughing it, but it is quiet and isolated. I slept soundly, probably with a little help from Moose Drool, and it's almost nine when I crawl out of the tent. Instead of seeing the accumulation of fresh snow that I expected, the sun is shining brightly and yesterday's snow fall has already begun to melt off. There's no wind, and it even feels warm. I'm hot natured and this almost seems like t-shirt weather. I take my time storing the tent and sleeping bag, intentionally delaying arrival in Raton. It's only fifty miles ahead and I intend to grab a late breakfast and shower there, but I don't want to run into Gayla and have to explain why I'm not already in Denver. Downtown near her motel, there's a great old time diner just off US 64, The Oasis, where they serve a monster breakfast and real coffee at 1950's prices. That's my first destination. Then, just before turning onto Interstate 25, several truck stops offer hot showers for five bucks. Even better, in warmer weather, you can use their hoses and take an outdoor shower for free. If the weather holds, that may be a possibility today.
The Turtle's 2F fires right up and we begin driving northwest on US 64/87, the road which takes us all the way to Raton. We pass through Des Moines and to the west I can see the outline of Capulin, a long dormant volcano. Further in the distance, snow capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo mountains are visible on clear days, a picturesque backdrop to the surrounding range lands. Capulin is a designated National Monument and well worth a detour. It's possible to drive to the top and hike down into the crater. From atop the 8,000 foot crater rim trail, views are spectacular but today we won't be stopping. This evening I really am expected in Denver. From Raton to Denver is usually a four hour drive and I hope to sneak into town just ahead of rush hour. That should be easy to accomplish with a noon departure.
At the Oasis, I pork down a stack of blueberry pancakes, followed by a Spanish omelet with a side of smoked bacon and a generous heap of hand cut hash browns, all washed down with several mugs of high octane coffee. It's even better than I remembered; that should hold me until dinner time. By now it's just past 11 AM and I'll have plenty of time to fill the tank and grab a shower. Weather through the pass can be severe at this time of year so I check the forecast at the truck stop. Clear all the way to Denver, they tell me. It's still sunny and creeping up on 70 degrees, remarkable for April. After hosing myself off at the truck stop I decide to change into shorts and a t-shirt. Thirty minutes later and we're gassed up, clean duds, ready to rock and roll.
Raton Pass is part of the historic Santa Fe Trail, a path cut in the early 1800's by Southwestern explorers. For almost two hundred years the pass has been the primary gateway between northern New Mexico and southern Colorado, dipping from Raton into a basin, then rising to almost 8,000 feet at the New Mexico-Colorado border before descending into Colorado. I've driven through this pass at least a hundred times and know very well that weather conditions can change in a heartbeat, or even be totally different on either side of the pass. Today I buy into the sunny skies and balmy forecast and don't even give this a thought. The Turtle and I begin descending into Raton Basin and sure enough, conditions couldn't be better. The basin marks the beginning of the Rocky Mountain foothills, and the scenery is a stark contrast to the flat prairie lands behind me. I poke along in the right lane in second gear, windows down, and periodically pull onto the shoulder to snap photos. Emerging from the basin and beginning the climb, I notice the temperature is dropping. No surprise there given the change in altitude. I roll up the windows, crank on the heater and all is well.
At the crest of the pass, looking down into Colorado, there's a different world ahead. The sun has disappeared, and I see darkened skies with snow falling, not the little flurries we saw yesterday, but big sloppy flakes falling quickly and already covering the roadway. Vehicles coming up the pass have their headlights on and they're barely moving. From behind it seems that every vehicle moving in my direction is attempting to make it to flat ground before the road becomes impassable. Eighteen wheelers are blowing by me and shaking the truck, making it difficult to stay in my lane, or what little I can see of it. I pull over and stop in order to let them pass. Visibility is becoming a big problem, and I think it would be an excellent idea for us to get the hell out of here too, the sooner the better. When the coast looks clear from behind I attempt to shift into first gear and there's no pedal. The Turtle has no clutch. We sit there for a while as I weigh options. I check the cell phone, no signal, so no help there. I could probably coast most of the way down, but wouldn't have much control so that's out. I decide to try and grind into second gear without the benefit of a clutch, something my Dad taught me to do as a kid. I try to remember his lesson. Turn the engine off, find first gear, start the engine and wait for the tranny to engage. I haven't done this in years and I'm not even sure I'm remembering correctly, but it's worth a try. I jam the shift lever into gear, turn the key, and The Turtle starts moving. I think I can shift gears without the benefit of clutch hydraulics once we're up to speed. I try this and there's an ugly grinding noise, but it works. I decide not to tempt fate so I turn on the warning flashers and we stay in second gear in the outside lane. Eventually we make it to the bottom, to flat ground and we're on IH-25 slowly creeping north, still in second. What to do now? On the Colorado side, now through the pass, it's still snowing but the road is relatively clear; we keep moving. The next town ahead is Trinidad but as I recall there's not much there. It's not a place I care to stop.
On the first long flat stretch, as an experiment, I attempt to shift into third and Shazaam, like magic the clutch works and I'm in third gear. Huh? I accelerate, try the clutch again, and I'm in fourth. This makes no sense but we're moving under power and I'm not about to question good luck, so I keep driving. A few miles pass and somewhere north of Trinidad I need to downshift; again the clutch is gone and we begin lugging badly on the uphill grade. I coast onto the shoulder, try Army's no-clutch procedure again, hear the loud grinding but again I'm able to get into second. I begin worrying that if I keep on grinding gears like this, I'm likely to really screw something up, and I remind myself that this isn't my truck. I'm almost two hundred miles from Denver and trying to make it there under these conditions just isn't smart. I begin looking for the first exit with lights and shortly spot a Diamond Shamrock convenience store on my right, Exit 74. I take the exit and pull into a lone spot at the edge of the parking area. I'm gonna need to leave room for a tow truck.
I don't know if smart phones existed in 2005 but if they did, I didn't own one. I do have a military spec cell phone, but it hasn't been charged since the Glancy Motel in Oklahoma, three days earlier, and I'm almost out of juice. It's 2:30 and there's no way I'm making it to Denver, so my first call is to my old friend Steve, known on MUD as Overhanger. I give Steve a short report and tell him not to hold dinner. I speculate that either the clutch master cylinder has crapped out, or the slave, or both, but I'm not inclined to troubleshoot outdoors in this weather. With no tools or spare parts, there's no point. I promise to call back as soon as I figure out which end is up. A nice lady at the register tells me there's a small Toyota dealership in Pueblo, twenty five miles north. That's good I think, and fortunately I'd upgraded to AAA 100 mile towing before leaving on this trip. I call AAA and hold for thirty minutes, argue with the dispatcher, and finally convince her to send a tow truck. She tells me that I may have a two to three hour wait due to a rash of weather related accidents between Raton Pass and Pueblo. At least I'm not one of them. It continues to snow and I'm wearing the same shorts and t-shirt that I put on three hours earlier in sunny Raton, but it's warm inside the store and assistance is on the way. Things could be much worse, and the sympathetic cashier offers me free coffee and doughnuts while I wait.
As I'm waiting for AAA, Steve is posting updates to the 3FE Land Cruiser forum. Here's his first post:
"Tracking the Commander
I was sincerely hoping that by now the Commander and I would be getting bored swapping lies and ready to bombard the list with stories of speeding northward in an FJ40 bound for Glory (Hawaii). That will,unfortunately, have to wait as Lee and the Cruiser have ground to a halt at mile marker 74 on I-25 south of Pueblo. ......He is in a Shamrock convenience store parking lot trying to figure out what has happened to the clutch. Sounds as if the clutch M/C has gone belly up and that he wasn't keen on the idea of grinding gears, truck driver style, in a vehicle that doesn't belong to him. He was just beginning to troubleshoot the situation and called to let me know why he hadn't pulled up in front of mi casa yet. I hope he downloaded the Cruiser Assistance list and that his cell phone battery is fully charged. Any of you 40 series owners have any quick fixes that might work?
Steve"
To be continued...
Attached Pics--Capulin Volcano, entering Raton Pass on IH-25 from sunny New Mexico, and descending Raton Pass into Colorado.