Years ago, I read Tom Robbins' book "Another Roadside Attraction" and have maintained a fondness for off-the-beaten path. Mistakenly sometimes, I am of the opinion that funky little places can provide a welcome respite from the homogeneity of chain motels and restaurants. When I was on the road ten months of the year with my fledgling Indian art business, I use to wake up in Motel 6's and have to call the front desk to find out where I was.

For years, we had passed a hotel on the way into Durango which featured a signboard, always with some humorous aside like "Last Hotel for 50 Feet". I decided this trip was the time to see if the charm of their sign carried through the facility. Bad move, especially right out of the travel gate.

The kids and I were awakened at 5:30 in the morning by the highly distressed barking of one little dog for whom no one was taking responsibility. The dog carried on for an hour so there was no chance of falling back to sleep. I lay there and imagined the desk manager from the previous night, passed out from a wee too many nips at the sherry bottle; too overwhelmed by the burden of a disappointing life, some of which she had shared with me the previous evening, to be concerned or conscious of the animal's distress.

After a simple breakfast, we headed out into rainy weather. I realized we could run into trouble crossing Wolf Creek Pass and thought, “Two hours out of Bluff and we already run the chance of being thwarted!” Heading higher into the mountains, the kids were, of course, thrilled to see the snow and begged to play in it. I waited until we hit the top of the pass and out the kids went to throw snowballs.

Snow awakens my deepest sense of joy and winter will always be my favorite season. I have never lost the sense of wonder that comes from seeing mud, rocks, trees and trash transformed into a magical frostscape. I breathe more slowly and deeply when it is snowing and enjoy the sense of peace which sweeps over me.

I forced an interruption to my reverie. I love the snow, but I don't love digging out of it. I urged my reluctant children back into the car and down the other side of the mountain we sailed. Our destination was a contrast in landscapes, the Great Sand Dunes National Park.

We stopped for lunch in Del Norte at a funky fun place called Peace of Art Cafe, an organic restaurant and as it turns out, a very good find. The bright yellow building was a bit of sunshine during a drizzly day. The building was interesting, constructed of cord wood and glass bottles, a recycled construction using dead cottonwood and multi-shaped and colored glass.

We proceeded toward the sand dunes, a secret I kept from the kids. The Great Sand Dunes are the largest in North America. Plunked on the western slope of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, huge incongruous mounds of silica raise up against snowcapped mountains.

The day was dreadfully cold with the wind whipping and blasting. It was easy to see how the dunes were formed given the force of the gale. The kids had their first opportunity to pursue another Junior Ranger badge and spent the next couple of hours learning about the local animals, plants and minerals.

It was time to venture out into the sand in what turned out to be the best part of our day. We bundled up into layer after layer trying to keep the biting wind at bay. The dunes invited us to run toward them. Approaching them, we absorbed their immense size, sand piles which take up thirty square miles.

The sand blasted us as we headed across the flat. Running up the slopes and rolling down the opposite hill had us all laughing. We ventured about halfway up the largest mound before submitting to the extreme weather. We ran back to the car, our hair, clothes and teeth gritty with miniscule pebbles and a promise to return to these beautiful dunes during warmer weather.

Snow was threatening once again and I knew I needed to get on the eastern side of the mountains before we became stranded somewhere in the San Luis Valley. This valley has always been one of my favorites, a wide open expanse surrounded by mountains; a more remote place for farming and spread out living. The slush was hitting us as we eased our way over the La Veta Pass; our next destination, La Junta and Bent’s Old Fort.