They crossed Canyon Creek and the site of an avalanche a few years earlier, now evidenced by the rubble of broken, twisted trees and displaced earth. Dean explained to their guest the winter power of Mother Nature. Fury, followed by peace. Soon they were in the aspens; green-yellow leaves whispering in the almost unfelt breeze. Jennifer leaned all the way back, her head tilted to the heavens. "I love it! I love it!" she said, over and over again.
When they approached the area known as The Drinking Cup, the road narrowed and barely clung to the rock wall, a breath-gulping overhang hundreds of feet above the river. Jennifer breathed deeply as she looked downward. Unlike most first-time riders of this spectacular road, she didn't shudder; instead she leaned far over for a better view, rattling a litany of praises.
Dean pointed out the peaks that ringed them; Cirque and Teakettle Mountains, and Potosi Peak, all over 13,000 feet, and Mount Sneffles, standing tall beyond the others, stretching 14,150 feet to the sky.
They bypassed crowded Yankee Boy Basin, one of the most beautiful and photographed wildflower destinations in the country. Their time was limited if they were to visit the disputed property. Cynthia enthusiastically described Yankee Boy, a natural mountain bowl with its picture perfect waterfall and profusion of flowers. She promised they'd take Jennifer there another time, but then added, "Your property is equally beautiful, with far fewer visitors."
True to his word, Dean refrained from questioning Jennifer. Instead he played travel guide, pointing out various sights along the way-the occasional abandoned mine building, steep slopes, and the ghost town of Sneffles where Dean had experienced yet another adventure, this one before marrying Cynthia Byrne.
Jennifer began snapping her small camera at the first vista until she realized she'd used more than half the roll. "I should have bought a dozen of these!" she exclaimed.
"I'll print you copies of mine if you run out," Cynthia said. "You'll have to have pictures of your land. It's positively gorgeous up there."
"I can hardly wait," Jennifer answered.
The road continued to climb at a seemingly impossible grade, more rugged now with jagged rocks littering the uneven way. While Jennifer didn't complain, Dean could see her hands gripping the sides of the vehicle tightly as they moved steadily upward. After what seemed even longer than the Dean's first trip to the mine just two days earlier, they emerged into the basin where the valley floor was a sea of wildflowers. Jennifer gasped at the sight and stood, hands on the roll bar, and drank in the works of nature's paintbrush.
The group left the Jeep and spent more than an hour on foot with Cynthia taking infinite care with each of her photos. Jennifer, forced to husband her limited shots, took more time with hers as well. There were flowers everywhere, with an impossible variety of types and colors. Tiny blossoms struggled out of incredibly hostile locations, seemingly growing from the rocks themselves before celebrating their success in a brilliance of color.