As we drove to the
Stage Line, the pavement turned to gravel.
Maggie tells us to keep going another 3 miles. Based on our earlier experience geocaching in the
San Juan Nat’l Forest, DH was a little hesitant to keep going but I assured him there would be a stage line and steak dinner at the end of the road. Eventually, we discover the Stage Line. As we pulled in, we noticed many, many horses in a corral. Four of them, King, Mack, Rio, and Gerty, were being harnessed up in the barn. While we waited, we actually witnessed the truck tire deflate before our eyes! DH decided not to worry about it until we returned from our adventure to change the tire. Before long the
Mud Coach, circa 1860, was ready to take on passengers.
Our stage driver, Eric Bartels, wore a black western hat pulled low to shade his eyes from the sun. He kept the four reins laced through his fingers; his foot steadied the brake. We climbed on under “shotgun’s” directions and prepared for the ride to our waiting steak dinner. Then Eric snapped the reins and the stage rolled forward.
We traveled an hour through the rugged, southwestern Colorado plains (or pastures) to reach the Weber Canyon Stage Stop. On board were 11 passengers, Stagecoach driver Eric Bartels, and sidekick “Shotgun”.
The part of land we traveled through is fertile, grassy farmland that was settled in the late 1800s. Green juniper and pinion trees dotted the hillsides; sagebrush filled the unoccupied expanse of land.
Rocks of every size protruded from gullies and foothills. Deep ruts set our course. Yesterday’s buggy tracks, created during a rain storm, were baked hard and crusty in the warm afternoon sun. Since we’ve arrived, so has a little drizzle, causing a horse’s foot to slip into these ruts, but the gentle sway of the carriage soon returned.
Eric Bartels said the
Mancos Valley Stage Line uses a mud coach instead of a stagecoach for this run. “The mud coach has leather thorough-braces (springs) and is made of sturdier materials,” he said, “It’s much more comfortable than a stagecoach.”
In the last century, he said, stage lines used the mud coach when traveling longer distances and when crossing the rough, western frontier.
The mud coach is made of aspen and birch and is a replica of the
1860 Concord coach named for its place of origin:
Concord, N.H. White roll down canvas curtains hung at each opening, including the luggage rack, to keep out bad weather.

An hour after we left the ranch, we were anxious for that steak dinner we’d been hearing about. Driver Eric Bartels motioned with a handful of reins. “There, in that clearing,” he said. We circled the sagebrush and pulled up in front of a building of split spruce logs. Weber Station, built to replicate the log cabins of yesteryear, snuggled between the mountains as if it had been there for centuries.
Our full coach of passengers climbed out (or down), stretched and tested leg muscles. A small sheepherder’s cabin, built in the 1800s and refurbished by the Bartels family, sat close to the stage stop. We wondered how pioneer families endured summer’s blazing sun and winter’s freezing temperatures in such rickety, cramped living quarters.
As we gazed out over the valley, we could see why movie producers favored these settings. John Wayne westerns were shot about an hour away in northern Arizona.
Louis L’Amour’s (DH’s all time favorite author) ranch, the range he wrote about in most of his novels, is to the east, near
Durango.

We gathered inside the cabin, where kerosene lamps offered comfortable, shadowy light. We were seated at wide, lumberjack tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. A dark-brown, overstuffed davenport and chair made for cozy corner conversation. Antiques were everywhere.

After dinner, we went outside and plunked down on the steps, the railing, the rocker. We even gathered around a campfire. We chatted and played old fashioned games under the same sky as the Colorado cliff dwellers did so many years ago.
We made good friends in the homey atmosphere. When we heard the horses were hitched and the coach ready for boarding, we were reluctant to leave though we were given the opportunity to ride shotgun. I again found myself longing for my “roughing it” days tent camping with my dad when I was younger.
When we got back to the main parking area, I was astonished to see that the flat tire had been repaired, inflated, and ready to roll. It was a mystery to me as to who among our party had been the Good Samaritan but I sure was thankful!
We’re looking forward another day of sightseeing and the long drive to
Flagstaff, AZ.