Wednesday, March 30, 2022

Touring Manitou Springs




My sister Susan and I, along with her dog Blackberry, visited the Colorado mountain town of Manitou Springs this past Sunday afternoon, after first driving through the Garden of the Gods, as mentioned in yesterday's blog post. Manitou Springs is a charming little town located at the base of Pikes Peak, just to the west of Colorado Springs. It was founded by William Jackson Palmer (who also founded Colorado Springs) and his business partner William Abraham Bell back in 1872 as a "scenic heath resort," thanks to its many mineral springs.




Manitou Springs is filled with Victorian buildings, many catering to tourists, and it also has a large number of Victorian homes, such as the ones seen in the photograph on the right. Manitou Avenue, the main drag, was filled with tourists on Sunday, and traffic was backed up at the roundabout in the center of town. I was especially surprised to see so many out of state license plates so early in the season. There were cars from Utah, Texas, Wyoming, as well as other states, but I suppose they could all be transplants who have not gotten their Colorado plates yet. If so, do it soon, guys.



Although Manitou Avenue was jammed with cars and people, once I turned down Ruxton Avenue toward the Manitou Incline (which is no longer a funicular railroad, but a hiking trail consisting of 2,744 steps) the crowds thinned out quickly, as seen in the photograph on the left. The retail stores all seemed to be vacant, although that might have been because the summer tourist season has not yet begun, and perhaps those empty storefronts will open again in a few months. In any case, it was a fun place to visit, and I would not mind heading back there to enjoy what was named one of the 10 coolest small towns in America back in 2008. Granted, that was 14 years ago, but I have to say it still seems pretty cool to me. And by the way, the Manitou Incline rises 2,000 feet in less than a mile, so if you are tempted to climb it, I suggest you sit down until the feeling passes, to paraphrase a line from Mark Twain.

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