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Driving 65 miles per hour across the modern-day pavement, one might glance at that bridge, forgetting that this arid, rocky, region—scarce of vegetation—was once traversed on foot or horseback by the original American peoples.
Amidst Durango’s bustling downtown distractions and the noise of a harried life, one can simply step through an open door, in the heart of it all, and experience peace.
In the 1990s, and early into the new millennium, Main Avenue was lined with Harley Davidsons and other motorcycles from 12th Street to the Gaslight Theatre—most estimates in those glory days of the Iron Horse put the number of visiting hogs over 10,000.
While the list of Durango desirables may vary from person to person, one commonality holds true. It is almost guaranteed that at the very top is community.