The Million Dollar Highway/ San Juan Scenic Skyway
If there’s one road trip in Colorado that makes you grip the steering wheel with sweaty palms and shout “ohhh my god, look at that!” every few minutes, it’s the San Juan Skyway. A full 236-mile loop through the Rockies, it threads together storybook towns, craggy switchbacks, and mountain passes so high you wonder if you’ve touched the edge of the sky. Its crown jewel is the Million Dollar Highway, a stretch so dramatic that postcards don’t even come close.
Alan had been buzzing about this road for months—it was one of the primary destinations on our entire itinerary. We had to beat the October 15th clock, the unofficial “snow lock” when passes here usually slam shut until spring. This was Colorado’s rugged San Juans—remote, untamed, and spectacular.
Durango: Gateway to the Skyway
After Mesa Verde National Park, we drifted east along US-160. The sign for “Mountain Passes, Winding Road, Steep Drop-Offs” was less a warning and more a dare. Soon US-160 melted into US-550 and dropped us into Durango—“Welcome to Historic Durango,” the sign read, right as the Rockies turned purple and pink in the late-day sun, yellow poplars shimmering like confetti.
We ducked into Chimayo Stone Fired Kitchen for lunch—stone-oven pizza and a deep exhale after the canyon climbs. Cute storefronts begged for photos, but honestly, the lure of Wi-Fi, a hot shower, and clean laundry at La Quinta won. After camping the night before, creature comforts felt like luxury.
Alan, towel wrapped around his shoulders post-shower, smirked:
“Babe, this might be the million-dollar night right here.”
Silverton: Victorian Time Warp
The next day, after a slow start and a strong coffee, we pressed north. Moose sightings on the roadside, aspens turning fire-orange, switchbacks twisting higher and higher—every bend in the road begged for a photo stop.
By mid-afternoon, the sign read: Silverton, A Victorian Mining Town. It felt like we’d stumbled into a Wild West movie set—steam engines, blacksmith shops, old saloons with names like the Shady Lady. Even the homes stacked with chopped wood looked like they were bracing for a 19th-century blizzard.
We checked into The Avon, which looked deserted—dark wood, creaky stairs, a chalkboard with two phone numbers scratched in chalk. The “manager” told me to grab the key for Room 3 from behind the bar. “Feel free to use the kitchen, just clean up.” So we did. Our “hotel” was more like a frontier guest house—roomy desk for me to write, good Wi-Fi, firm bed. Other guests eventually gathered downstairs, clinking drinks and swapping road stories.
Alan whispered, “We’re in a Colorado Airbnb…1903 edition.”
Million Dollar Highway: The Showstopper
We were up before dawn, ready for the drive. Silverton to Ouray is the most famous stretch of the Million Dollar Highway, and now I know why. The road climbs to Red Mountain Pass at 11,017 feet—switchbacks so tight, no guardrails, just raw drop-offs into oblivion. The San Juans explode in color here—orange aspens, red and gold ridgelines, old mining ruins clinging to the slopes.
Stops? Oh yes.
Red Mountain Pass Overlook – jaw-dropping in every direction.
Bear Creek Falls – water thundering beneath Otto Mears’ 1881 bridge, the man who first carved roads through these mountains.
Little Switzerland of America sign – Ouray shimmering in a box canyon below, peaks towering like Swiss Alps.
Box Canyon Falls – a metal grate walkway leading straight into a roaring slot canyon.
Alan leaned over the railing, mist on his face: “Nature’s plumbing, and we’re standing inside the pipes.”
We grabbed burgers at a local brewery, still buzzing with adrenaline.
Telluride: Luxe Among Peaks
With daylight left, we rolled west to Telluride. It’s one of those ski towns that’s part postcard, part celebrity hideout. The Hotel Telluride was our splurge—a luxe stay where even the lobby smelled of cedar and fresh mountain air. I dreamed of lamb chops at one of the town’s foodie temples, but the hotel bistro won us over. Colorado comfort food, wine, soft chairs. Bliss.
The next morning was crisp—40 degrees. We tried to reach the free Telluride–Mountain Village gondola (yes, it’s dog-friendly!), but detoured to a ski lift lookout instead. Small streets, big van, and plenty of construction made navigating stressful, so we called it: time to chase solitude again.
Onward to Black Canyon
Leaving Telluride’s boutiques and chalets behind, we pointed the van toward Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. The San Juan Skyway had lived up to its legend: daring, dazzling, nerve-wracking, and unforgettable.
Alan summed it up best as we descended the last pass:
“Babe, I think we hit peak colors and peak Colorado.”