THE WALLS OF THE CAÑON, GRAND RIVER
The Denver and Rio Grande Railway is well called "the scenic line of the world." From Denver to Pueblo it runs almost due south, across a level valley, with perpetually enchanting views of the mountains and curious rock formations, between Denver to the region below Colorado Springs. From the great smelting city of Pueblo, "the Pittsburg of the West," the road turns westward, on an upward grade, till it reaches Cañon City, and from there to Glenwood Springs this road is a marvel of civil engineering. Up the narrow, deep cañons of Grand River, through the towering granite cliffs, it winds, on and up, passing Holy Cross Mountain, offering at every turn new vistas of sublime and wonderful beauty. To take a day's ride through such scenery, with the luxurious comfort of the most modern Pullman cars, and a good dining-car constantly with the train, is to enjoy a day that lives in memory. Not the least of the attractions of Glenwood Springs is the enchanting route by means of which one arrives in this picturesque region. As the train climbs up to plateau after plateau in the mountains the scenes are full of changeful enchantment. The formation is interesting,—a deep cañon, with rock cliffs apparently towering into the sky, and then the emerging on a great level plateau. All along this route, too, are those wonderful sandstone formations that have made the "Garden of the Gods" so marvellous a place. Between Cañon City and Glenwood Springs the very dance of the Brocken is seen in Sandstone sculptures.
Near the summit of Iron Mountain, which is in the immediate vicinity, the "Fairy Caves" rival the famous "Blue Grotto" of Capri in attraction. These caves (less than a mile from the Hotel Colorado) are a most intricate and wonderful series of subterranean caverns, grottos, and labyrinths, with translucent stalactites and stalagmites, and they are all lighted by electricity,—a great improvement on the sibyls' cave, where the sibylline leaves were read. The oracles of that time were sadly lacking in conditions of modern conveniences. The sibyl had not even a telephone. We do things better now, and run electric cars up to the Pyramids. Nor did the sibyl of old have a tunnel two hundred feet long, by which her votaries could approach the scene of her oracles; but visitors to the Fairy Caves may pass by means of this tunnel to one of the grandest and most awful precipices in the Rocky Mountains, where they step out upon a balcony of stone into the open air, with a perpendicular wall of rock one hundred feet high, above, and an almost perpendicular abyss, down, twelve hundred feet below. Standing on this balcony, nothing can be seen behind but sheer perpendicular ascent and descent of rock; but in front and far below may be seen the Grand River, appearing as a brook, winding in and out among the projecting mountains, visible here like burnished silver, and lost there, only to reappear again at a point far distant.
THE "FAIRY CAVES," COLORADO
At this high elevation the opening of the cañon of the Grand is seen in all of its majesty,—the massive mountains projecting against each other in their outlines, and the lofty peaks reaching to the skies. The Denver and Rio Grande Railway is at the foot of the cañon,—a mere winding line, as seen from this Titanic height.
The Colorado Midland Road also runs through Glenwood Springs, whose phenomenal hot caves and luxurious and elaborate bathhouse have given it European fame. The twin towers of the hotel remind one of Notre Dame, and the views from these are beautiful. The design is after the Villa Medici in Rome,—the same motive repeated for the central motive of this superb Hotel Colorado with its towers and Italian loggias and splendid spacious piazzas, and its searchlight from one of the towers, illuminating the evening trains that pass in the deep cañon of Grand River. Here is a region that might be that of Sorrento and Capri.
In Glenwood Springs the traveller may meet Mrs. Emma Homan Thayer, the author of "Wild Flowers in Colorado," published in both London and New York. Mrs. Thayer was a New York girl, one of the original founders of the Art League, and the daughter of an enterprising and well-known man. She is an artist by nature and grace,—sketches, paints, and writes, and in both painting and literature she has made a name that is recognized, and she has charmingly perpetuated in her book the unique and wonderful procession of Colorado wild flowers.
Lookout Mountain, rising some twenty-five hundred feet above the town, has an easy trail to its summit; the driving is picturesque and safe on terraced mountain roads with perpetual vistas of beauty, and many lakes in the vicinity—Mountain, Big Fish, Trappers' Lake, and others—offer excellent fishing. The hotel grounds at night are transformed into a veritable fairyland. The fountains shoot their jets of water up hundreds of feet into the air, with a play of color from electric lights thrown over them until they are all a changeful iridescent dream of rose and emerald and gold mingled with blue,—the very rainbows of heaven reproduced in mid-air.
