In what couldn’t have been more than a mile, the view outside had totally transformed, Main Street giving way to dramatic rock faces on one side, and sheer drop-offs on the other.
Up ahead, the road narrowed, carved out of the side of the mountain with hardly any room to spare. There was no shoulder, and as we climbed, the only thing separating us from the valley below was, well...air.
My stomach swooped unpleasantly as we worked our way around a tight turn.
Tay’s voice popped over the speaker, cheerful as ever. “Alright, buckle up, my brave and beautiful travelers. In case you haven’t noticed already, this next stretch is not for the faint of heart!”
A few nervous chuckles rippled around us.
“We are officially climbing into the heart of the San Juan Mountains—a subrange of the mighty Rockies. And this road? We’re on the Million Dollar Highway. Welcome.”
Someone behind us muttered “God help us” under their breath.
“Wasn’t this road featured on that show, World’s Most Dangerous Roads?” Eddie called out.
“I think it’s officially number two.” Tay almost seemed proud of this.
It was a statistic I really didn’t want to hear.
Noah’s hand closed around mine without a word, and for a second, I didn’t know what I was more aware of—the terrifying nothingness outside the window, or the feel of his fingers laced with mine.
“The stretch we’re on today—US Route 550—was originally built in the 1880s to connect Ouray and Silverton. Right now, we’re climbing toward Red Mountain Pass, which tops out at eleven thousand feet above sea level. Higher than Aspen, but not as high as we were a few days ago. Fun fact, though, up here they get an average of three hundred sixty inches of snow per year. That’s thirty feet, for anyone doing the math.”
More murmurs.
“Is it open in the winter?” Denise called out.
“It is! Thanks to some of the most fearless snowplow drivers in the world. No guardrails, tight switchbacks, sheer drops, and if you're looking out the windows on the left right now—yep, that’s a six hundred-foot drop. Don’t worry, though. Joey’s a pro. He’s got nerves of steel and hands steadier than a surgeon. Right, Joey?”
“Absolutely!” From our seat, I could see our driver punch a fist in the air.
“Both hands on the wheel, buddy,” Tay reminded him.
“Just up ahead,” Tay continued, “we’ve got a tunnel designed as an avalanche shelter. It’s there to protect you from falling snow and rock, which is still very much a thing this time of year. You’ll see the runoff—those little streams crossing the road? That’s the spring melt from up top.”
The bus tilted ever so slightly as we rounded another curve.
Noah leaned in, his voice low but light. “Should we take a selfie?”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“For your sister. Show her how brave you are.”
He was distracting me on purpose. And, once again, it was working.
“I’ll send one to my cat,” he added, his thumb lightly brushing my knuckles.
A surprised half-laugh escaped me. “If I move to get my phone, we might slide right off this mountain.”
Still, the idea of Noah sending selfies to a cat made my chest loosen, my shoulders drop.
“I can’t believe you have a cat.”
“What? I don’t strike you as a cat person?” He grinned.
“Not exactly.” I gave him a once-over. “You seem more like a big-dog guy. A lab or a husky. The kind of dog you could hike with.”
He tilted his head in consideration.
