Another of the many adventures of PASS PATROL

Pass Patrol’s first visit to Holy Cross City was in 1987. There were four vehicles on that trip. One lost a muffler and another suffered a dented rocker panel. We didn’t make it all the way to the ghost town because of a huge mud bog on the west side of French Creek. That bog was no place for stock vehicles.

In those days, getting to the mud bog was just as difficult as it is now, but it was the bog that got most of the attention. There was no way around it although lots of people tried. It was those attempts to get around the bog that nearly caused us to lose the Holy Cross City Trail forever.

The bog was no wider than a three-lane highway, but was nearly twice that long from end to end. Except for a few thinner areas, most of the mud was about the consistency of an extra thick chocolate shake. It was also that same color. Those who chose to enter it, did so knowing they would never get all that mud out of their vehicle’s private parts for so long as they should live. In other words, to venture forward simply meant the driver didn’t really care about the appearance of the vehicle.

Very few vehicles made it through on the first try. Open Jeeps found themselves stuck in the goo deep enough to cover the brake pedal inside the vehicle. After a few revolutions of the wheels, drivers and anyone else foolish enough to stand within throwing distance were all the same color as the bog.

An anchor had been permanently mounted in a nearby boulder so the vehicle would have something solid enough to winch to. That anchor is all that’s left of the once famous Holy Cross Mud Bog.

The Forest Service decided the area was causing too much damage to the environment and notified the 4x4 clubs that the Holy Cross City Trail was being closed. Actually the damage was being caused by those who tried to get around the bog and ripped up the forest on both sides of it in the process.

After a year of negotiations, a compromise was reached. The 4X4 clubs would build a road across the bog and the trail would remain open. On Saturday, September 24, 1988, under the supervision of the Forest Service, dozens of vehicles filled with people drove to the mud bog and repaired it. A sign at the bog recognizes those who contributed time, money, and materials to get the job done.

Although the mud bog is no more, the Holy Cross City Trail has retained its reputation as the second most difficult established trail in Colorado. There is good reason why. Getting through the four miles of naturally seeded mine fields between the county road and the ghost town is nearly impossible to do in a stock vehicle without some damage. Dented and scratched rocker panels are the most common. Bent tie rods, sway bars, and stabilizers run a close second and it is likely the vehicle will need to be winched at least once.

I was alone on my return visit in September of 1997, but I had lots of company. If you didn’t understand that sentence, read it again. It’s really quite simple. All of my Pass Patrol members decided not to go. I never knew so many of them had dogs that needed a bath on some Saturdays. On the other hand, there were at least thirty other vehicles on the trail and I’m happy to say I only had to winch four of them.

I camped near the beginning of the trail on Friday night and got a 7am start Saturday morning. I don’t normally like to roll out of the sack that early, but I was going to be doing a lot of filming for my upcoming book and video which meant long stops and delays. Knowing that most 4wheelers don’t finish the morning campfire tales until about 9am, I guessed I had a two hour head start.

My plan worked very well. The crowd didn’t catch me until I high centered ole Trigger on a rock the size of a Volkswagen Bug on the west bank of French Creek. Actually, I didn’t get high centered until the first group caught up to me. I had already been there about a half hour taking video from different angles and trying different approaches to the rock. Then I noticed some vehicles coming up the trail behind and decided I better get out of the way. I jumped into ole Trigger, rolled forward about six inches, slipped sideways about a foot and came to a sudden stop. I had done went an embarrassed myself in front of six vehicles full of finger-pointing, grinning and giggling folks. I tied the cable of my Warn 8,000 winch to a nearby tree, pulled myself out, and went off to wallow in the shame of what I had done. Well, at least this time nobody was taking pictures of it. The last time I shamed myself like that, the whole incident appeared on the 6 o’clock news. Just thinking about how that happened got me laughing out-loud and caused me to forget all about those folks back at French Creek wondering what that idiot in the Trooper thought was so funny.

It was on that trip in 1988. A local TV station was doing a news story about the repairs we were doing to the bog. I had done so well getting my new Bronco up the trail, the cameraman asked me if I ever did any commercials for Ford. Then we got to French Creek and he was filming my approach to the big rock. The rock was all wet from dozens of vehicles ahead of me that had crossed the creek and splattered water everywhere. I planted a big ole BFG tire right on top of that wet rock when a spotter said, “You need to be left a few inches.” I did as he said and slipped off the rock like a dog on a water slide. Right in front of the camera. “Back up a little,” the spotter said. I put it in reverse and pressed on the gas. The truck didn’t move but that left front 31x10.50 BFG reached down, grabbed all that water them other vehicles had left behind, and completely covered the cameraman and his expensive mega-thousand dollar camera. “You’re stuck,” the spotter said.

“No kiddin’, Sherlock!” I never did find out who that spotter was but he sure was having a good laugh as he wandered off to his truck. The next day, everybody in Colorado watched me embarrass myself on the six o’clock news. Somehow the part about the cameraman getting wet never made it to the screen.

On my trip this year, I was the second vehicle to reach the ghost town. The others were still trying to get across French Creek. I pulled out my stove and began cooking up a chopped steak lunch when I heard thunder over the mountain. Before that steak was burned the way I like it, rain drops were falling on my head. By the time I finished that steak, the only thing still dry in Holy Cross City was the rain coat buried somewhere in the back of my truck.

I tossed the stove in the truck and headed for French Creek. When I got there, I could see it was gonna be a long afternoon.

There were four different groups with more than twenty vehicles waiting to cross the creek. The one in the front was high centered on the same rock I had been on just an hour earlier. Rain was coming down in buckets and there were about a dozen water-logged people pushing, pulling, and tugging on that vehicle trying to get it off the rock. They sure were happy to see the big red Warn sticker on the front of my bumper. I backed ole Trigger off to the side and went to work.

The first group consisted of four vehicles. I winched three of them. The fourth one just backed up and hit the rock with brute force. He bounced over it but with all the banging and clanging that occurred, I wouldn’t give him ten cents for the truck.

After that first group, the other groups headed in. Most of them had lockers and lift kits which enabled them to get through with little effort. I only had to winch one. By that time, the folks who had followed me to the ghost town earlier were on their way down so I let all of them around me before going across the creek.

The rain stopped about the time I crossed French Creek but by that time, every rock on the trail was as slippery as ... well ... let’s just say they were slippery. The trip down was done very cautiously.

The history of Holy Cross City dates back to the 1880s. It was named after Mount of the Holy Cross even though the two are a considerable distance apart. The Mount of the Holy Cross was first believed to be a prospector’s tale. It was described as a cross of snow carved into the side of a mountain and as huge as the mountain itself, but the claims were hard to prove. The cross is only visible for a few weeks in the spring of each year. By the time the prospector who saw it could bring anyone back to witness his claim, the cross was gone and in some cases the prospector couldn’t even be sure which mountain it was on.

A legend began to grow about the Holy Cross and stories were told that anyone who mined within view of it was certain to die. Perhaps that’s why Holy Cross City was built far from the nearest view of the Holy Cross.

In 1929, Mount of the Holy Cross was designated a National Monument but that designation has since been withdrawn. The bars of the cross are 450 feet across and 1,400 feet high. They are formed by crevices in the face of the mountain that are said to be about sixty feet deep. The snow in those crevices is the last to melt, so once the other snow is melted, the cross is formed. The best view is from the Shrine Pass Road which branches off Vail Pass at the Summit Rest Area on I-70. The only time of year to see the cross of snow is early spring after the snow around the cross is gone, but before the snow within the crevices forming the cross has melted.

You will find the Holy Cross City Trail in Volume Seven of the Adventures of Pass Patrol

Happy Trails!

More spoofs from the deep dark recesses of someone's mind.

This special news bulletin in from Aurora, Colorado. Our reporter happened onto a Federal Task Force led by Ranger Rick outside 403-J Laredo St in Aurora. Ranger Rick was yelling, “We know you’re in there, Outlaw. Throw out that lemon filled donut and come out with your hands up!”

There was no response from within the unit so our reporter asked Ranger Rick what was going on. Ranger Rick said the raid was the result of an exhausting three year investigation into the where-a-bouts of Outlaw. It all began three years ago when Outlaw camped in a Canyonlands campsite without first going to the Ranger station to receive his complementary lecture on backcountry camping. Since that day, Ranger Rick has headed an all-out search for Outlaw. Once captured, Outlaw could face up to thirty days of continuous tape recorded lectures on backcountry camping.

Most recently, a Federal task force headed by Ranger Rick confiscated records of all the near-by King Soopers Bakeries and determined that three of those bakeries had unusually high sales of lemon filled donuts. Using GPS systems, they were able to triangulate a position that led to this unit on Laredo St.

Ranger Rick believes Outlaw has repeatedly escaped being captured utilizing the assistance of an Alien Brat in a flying saucer who may actually be the illegitimate son of Outlaw’s accomplice known only as, Sundance. If this is not Sundance’s son, the most likely alternative explanation is the mother is from Venus and the father is from Mars.

Ranger Rick is convinced Outlaw and Sundance became acquainted with the Alien Brat during frequent visits to the UFO landing site near Boulder, Utah. He claims to have broken his front teeth after biting into a biscuit left behind when the flying saucer toasted it during take off. The saucer also toasted a lawn chair in the process.

Just as Ranger Rick was beginning a story about how the Alien Brat rescued Outlaw from being captured by transporting his vehicle up Bobbie’s Hill, an unmarked rental car pulled up beside Ranger Rick. A man named Skinner flashed an FBI badge as he exited the vehicle and a young lady he called Skulley pulled her gun and headed for the unit door. Skinner declared the operation officially under FBI jurisdiction since he had reason to believe the Alien Brat kidnapped Mulder and substituted him with a replica which committed suicide in the last episode of X-files.

When Skulley opened the unit door, a smoking man stepped out and said, “Too late Skulley. They’re gone.”

The agents pushed past the Smoking Man and found the unit was completely cleaned out except for one partially eaten lemon filled donut laying on the floor.

Ranger Rick ate the evidence before Skinner could get to it. He was mumbling that Outlaw was probably on another planet by now and would never get his lecture. The other agents left without so much as a good-bye and our reporter went over to 401-G which just might be another planet. At least that has to be where this story came from. Still camping too close to Uranium mines, huh Outlaw?

Y'all come on by and see the new office.

Happy Trails!

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Campfire Tales - October, 1997

Holy Cross City

by Larry E Heck

Another of the many adventures of PASS PATROL

More spoofs from the deep dark recesses of someone's mind.

by
Larry E Heck