The couple drove over the narrow wooden bridge that spanned Red Mountain Creek, and joined two other cars in the small parking area. After clamping on their skies and hoisting day-packs, they set out on the groomed path. There were a number of different routes, but the Deans chose the two-mile town site loop, a nearly flat path that first traversed a scented pine forest and then opened to a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains.
Cynthia leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drank in the scene. "Feel that air!" she exclaimed. "Not a grain of smog anywhere. It's beautiful!"
The January sun continued in its brilliance and the rhythmic gliding across the crystal snow, though not exhausting, warmed the couple to the point where even their limited outer cover seemed excessive. They saw others on the trail only once when an elderly couple steamed by them with a wave. While they thought themselves in better than average shape, many of the locals were dynamos when it came to high altitude athletics. Any activity ten thousand feet in the sky quickly separated the properly trained from the panting wannabes.
The trail was not difficult by cross-country standards-just enough of a challenge to stir the blood and quicken the breath. But the pristine forest and surrounding view was more than worth the tiredness that crept into the arms and legs.
They said little as they skied, content to enjoy their surroundings. At the far end of the loop, they passed the few remaining structures of the abandoned town of Ironton; empty, ghost-like buildings. Dean tried to picture the bustling town of a century past, at one time home to a dozen saloons, four restaurants, a newspaper, nearly three hundred houses and more than a thousand inhabitants. But within twenty years, it had faded as rapidly as it had grown. By 1913, the post office was closed and the town had dwindled to two dozen remaining souls, and before long, it was left to indigenous wildlife and the spirits of a boisterous past.
While there remained much of the afternoon, the shortened days of winter dipped the sun below the towering mountains as the tired couple finished the loop, returned to their jeep and left for home. Dean drove with even more caution now that the melted road sections were beginning to freeze anew, downshifting, allowing the reduced gear to slow the vehicle. As they passed the plowed pullout for the cutoff to Engineer pass, they were reminded of the past June and their mountain-camping honeymoon, up this road and into Poughkeepsie Gulch. Now the jeep road was closed, as it had been since early fall and would remain so until June, locked in its privacy by several feet of accumulated snow. Two cars were parked off the edge of the road and as they passed, Cynthia looked back with a start.